


just like the ocean (you change what i see)

by alnima



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Dystopia, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Nouis and Sophiam, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, The side pairings are very minor and not featured too heavily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:26:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8033122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnima/pseuds/alnima
Summary: The twentieth ceremony establishes three things: a person’s job, the occupation within the city that the Council deems they’re best suited for, where they’ll be living, and whom they’ll be living with. The person that they’ll be spending the rest of their lives with, their partner.Tomorrow is Harry’s twentieth ceremony. Tomorrow, Harry finds out the future he’s being given and forced to accept.Harry doesn’t know what he’s going to do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [1D_Hiatus_Prompt_Meme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/1D_Hiatus_Prompt_Meme) collection. 



> A big, big thank you to Mo for helping me and listening to me along the way, to Tee, who let me email her to go over my idea and passed along her own ideas that sparked an inspiration bubble inside of me, and to everyone else I mentioned this idea to so that my worries could be soothed. And of course, to the mods of this prompt meme who had to constantly deal with me and see first hand what mess I am.
> 
> To the prompter, whoever you are, I hope you enjoy what I have planned for this fic. It will be updated regularly, but I felt a chapter format was the best for my plan, and I wanted to fix some of the later stuff I have written, while also making sure you get something. So consider this the gift that keeps on giving :) 
> 
> In the process of editing this fic, I discovered the prompt is really similar to a YA novel called 'Matched'. I've never read that, I've only seen the summary online, so any similarities are completely accidental and not intended. And with that being said, I hope you enjoy this. Tags will be updated as chapters are added.

Harry checks over his shoulder before he dips under a tree and disappears into the woods. It’s dense at the forest’s edge, thick underbrush snagging on his pants as he plows through. There hadn’t been anyone standing around the edge of the woods, no one paying him any attention, and while he knows that it’s not against the rules to venture out into the woods, Harry doesn’t want to risk anyone following him, so he moves quickly, only slowing down once the underbrush starts to thin out and then disappears all together.  
  
Louis is sitting on a rock next to the creek, his chin resting on top of his knees where they’re pulled against his chest. His back is facing Harry, and Harry watches as Louis goes tense at the sound of Harry’s feet on the forest floor. Louis doesn’t say anything, must know that it’s Harry, because he relaxes just as quickly as he tenses, eyes never leaving the rippling water in front of him as Harry sits down next to him.  
  
It’s quiet as Harry pulls his shoes off and then his socks, stuffing them inside of his boots so that he can dip his toes in the water. It’s freezing, but Harry doesn’t mind it. It bites at his skin, keeping him here, keeping him in the present as he sits silently at Louis’ side.  
  
Eventually though, because it’s Louis and he doesn’t know how not to talk, or because he just doesn’t want to pretend like nothing is happening, like nothing is going to happen, when so much is, Louis talks.  
  
“My mom finished sewing my outfit for tomorrow,” is all that he says, and Harry nods and waits for more. It takes a minute for Louis to add, “It’s just a patch from my dad’s—their ceremony.”  
  
“A lot of people wear old clothes to the ceremonies,” Harry reasons, grabbing a rock and tossing it into the stream. It drops into the water, heavy and sure, leaving a rippling wave across the stop as it sinks.  
  
“You’re not supposed to.”  
  
Harry shrugs. “People still do, Louis.” Harry turns towards his friend, seeing him nod as he stares down into the water, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he chews on it. “You don’t have to do it, you know.” He adds, because Louis should know that. He should understand that he has a choice, or he could.  
  
Louis laughs, hollow and bitter. It sends a chill up Harry’s back, makes frown down at the water. “I _have_ to do it,” Louis mutters, almost hysterical. “We all _have_ to do it, don’t you _get_ that, Harry? I have to.”  
  
Harry shakes his head. “You don’t. You could—we could run away. We could leave, it’d be easy,” Harry says, pushing up on the rock so that he can lie on his back, arms pillowed under his head as he stares at the sky through the trees. It looks like it’s going to storm, thick angry clouds rolling in quickly. “We could go now, no one would know. No one knows we’re out here.”  
  
“They always know, Harry. How do you think—Why do you think they have all those stories about what happens to runaways? How else could they have done any of that?”  
  
“Oh please,” Harry scoffs. “Those are stories. No one knows what happens, they’re just trying to scare us.”  
  
Louis snorts as he unfolds his legs, stretching out so that he’s lying next to Harry on the large, flat rock. “It’s not fair,” mumbles Louis, his voice quiet. Harry almost can’t hear him, thinks that maybe he didn’t until Louis says it again. “It’s not fair that we can’t choose. It’s not fair that they get to decide for us.”  
  
“That’s why we could leave. Run through the forest until we find something new, something better. Something that’s not here.”  
  
“No,” sighs Louis, shaking his head, “We can’t. Leaving scares me more than staying does.”  
  
It’s a confession that Harry’s never heard before, one that makes him angry. Not at Louis, but at everything. At their lives, at the world in which they’re forced to live in, the system that dictates their lives in this world; lives that are chosen for them in a system that they’re forced to abide by.  
  
Harry knows that there has to be more out there, something better, somewhere better, somewhere that they can _live._  
  
But Louis is scared, and without Louis, Harry’s not sure that he’d be able to make it out there. The stories about people leaving, they’re just stories, at least right now, and Harry doesn’t want to find out if there is a truth to them without Louis there. He needs someone.  
  
“You haven’t asked me about my test,” Louis says eventually, when it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to say anything else. “Don’t you want to know?”  
  
“The test is bullshit, they don’t actually take our feelings into account. They watch us, Louis. They keep an eye on us and then decide where we’ll keep in line the best, where they can make sure we’ll benefit their shitty fucking system. Your test _doesn’t matter_ ,” Harry grits out, feeling hot all over as anger washes over him.  
  
Louis’ ceremony is tomorrow, and tomorrow everything changes, not just for Louis, but for Harry as well. The test…it doesn't actually mean anything, it’s an illusion, in Harry’s opinion. It’s a show that the Council puts on for the appearance of choice, the appearance of freedom, when it’s nothing more than a hoax.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Louis sighs, “But I’m trying to be optimistic, so do you think—Can you just _pretend_ to understand that for a moment?” Harry startles at that, staring at Louis with his mouth open. “It’s not _your_ life that’s up for debate tomorrow, it’s mine, so can you just—Can you just. I don’t know.”  
  
Louis’ shoulders drop, the fight leaving his body as quickly as it came. Harry frowns, reaching his hand out to squeeze Louis’ knee.  
  
“We should head back,” Harry says instead of fighting the point anymore. Louis is right; Harry knows that he is. As much as Harry hates the Council and the rules and the system, Louis hates it too, always has, but there’s a still a year before Harry has to even wonder what it would be like to be in Louis’ shoes.  
  
Louis nods and stands, brushing off the dirt on his pants as Harry follows suit. They move together in silence, the storm clouds rolling above them, claps of thunder in the distance that send a tingle up Harry’s spine. Louis is staring down at the ground, feet dragging as he tries to stall going back. Harry knocks their shoulders together, offering him a small smile and saying, “What’d you tell them you wanted on your test?”  
  
The smile Louis offers him is small but it’s worth it, to forget about their animosity for just a moment before Louis’ world comes crumbling down on top of him. 

***

Louis’ world never crashes down around him; at least Harry’s not sure that it ever did. Louis never rebelled like Harry thought he would, he never mentioned being miserable, instead, he’s happy.  
  
Louis is happy.  
  
Louis is—he _enjoys_ the life that the Council assigned him, and a full year later, Harry is still just as confused, just as bitter to the fact that Louis changed his mind on everything they _both_ felt so deeply about.  
  
Louis’ abandoned his beliefs; he abandoned Harry, because now it’s just him. It’s just Harry in hating everything he’s going to be forced into, just him and the loathing that Louis promises is going to consume Harry one day if he doesn’t let up. Harry’s not worried about it; he wants it to consume him, especially if it means that tomorrow won’t happen.  
  
Louis is happy and Harry doesn’t know what to do with that.  
  
“Something wrong with your tea?” Louis asks, pulling Harry out of his head and back to reality. He blinks, shaking his head as he lifts the heavy mug that Louis placed in front of him moments ago.  
  
The tea is cold, but Harry doesn’t complain, instead he talks a large sip when Louis’ brow lifts inquisitively. “It’s fine, thanks,” Harry mutters, clutching the mug in his hands instead of placing it back down on the table. “You didn’t have to make me anything.”  
  
“Well, I needed to do something while you glared a hole into my table.”  
  
Harry smiles at the comment, not by much, but just enough so that the corners of his mouth turn up in amusement before dropping back down. “A lot on my mind, I guess.”  
  
“I’d be surprised if there wasn’t, knowing you,” Louis replies. “You want to talk about it?”  
  
Harry sighs and shrugs. He’s not sure why he came to see Louis, aside from the fact that he has absolutely nothing to do to kill time before his ceremony tomorrow. Louis’ partner isn’t home either, which means that Harry feels more comfortable visiting his best friend. It hasn’t been easy since Louis was given his Assignment last year, but they’ve managed.  
  
Louis used to spend more time seeking out Harry than he does now, back when he used to hate Niall, his partner. And Louis being into his partner makes it all the more difficult for Harry to talk to him as freely as he wants to, as he wishes that he could with someone who means so much to him, because despite how happy Louis has ended up, Harry still doesn’t believe in their system of doing things, and no matter what happens tomorrow, he doesn’t see his mind changing.  
  
“Not much to talk about, is there?”  
  
Louis shrugs. “I don’t know about that. What do you think you’re going to get?”  
  
“I really don’t know.” Louis shakes his head, like he’s disappointed in Harry’s answer or something. Harry drops his gaze down to his tea, frowning as he brings the mug to lips for another drink. “No one knows what they’re going to get, you know that as well as anyone,” Harry says quietly, chancing a glance at Louis to see him bobbing his head.  
  
“I guess you have a point with that,” Louis agrees. “But still, you could at least have a guess at what you think you’re going to get.”  
  
“Louis, I don’t know. I really and truly don’t know what they’re going to do with me.”  
  
“All right, fine. How was your test? Your interview?”  
  
“It was fine, I guess,” Harry answers. He didn’t really give them much, giving the vague answers that he hoped told them he doesn’t give a single fuck about his Assignment because, if he had it his way, he’d have disappeared into the woods ages ago, making it out or becoming an example for everyone else, who knows, but he wouldn’t be there. He wouldn’t be sitting in the Council building answering a bunch of bullshit questions that they don’t give a damn about.  
  
“What’d you tell them that you want?” Louis asks, and when Harry opens his mouth to say something, he raises his hand to stop him. “I don’t mean for your job, I meant for your…partner. What’d you say you wanted?”  
  
“Oh,” Harry mutters, chewing on his bottom lip as he sets his mug down on the table, no longer interested in it. “I said that I didn’t care.”  
  
“Did you mean that?”  
  
Harry shrugs. “I don’t really care, so yeah. I meant it.”  
  
Louis studies Harry carefully for a moment, his eyes tracking him over the rim of his own mug, taking a careful, steady drink. When he sets the cup back down on the table, Louis sighs, reaching a hand out to cover Harry’s.

“Harry, I just want you to remember that you should keep an open mind. I know you have your own…thoughts on the Assignments, but,” Louis pauses, frowning as he tries to gather his words, “It wouldn’t be fair to whomever you end up with if you enter this resenting them for something that’s just as much out of your control as it is theirs.”  
  
“Louis—“  
  
“You have to _try_ , Harry,” Louis begs.  
  
Harry stares at his best friend, feeling a pang of sadness deep in his chest. Louis doesn't get it, not anymore. “Things shouldn’t be this way,” Harry reminds him.  
  
Louis looks at him for a moment before he sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. And that’s fine. Or no, it’s not, not really.  
  
Harry doesn’t want to lose his best friend to the system more than he wants to lose his own free will, the ability to make his own choices, but it feels like a fitting punishment for being unable to bend on something like this.  
  
And Harry doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through this, how he’s going to be able to sit through the ceremony tomorrow and know that he’s going to be given an Assignment for the rest of his life, all the little details planned out in clear text for him to go over everyday for the rest of his life, everyday that he wonders how he got there, everyday that he hates his life and himself, and everyday that he spends thinking about how things should be versus how they are.  
  
Harry doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through the rest of his life when it’s a life that the Council has forced on him.  
  
Louis is happy and he doesn’t get it, not anymore. He’s happy and in love; everything is perfect for Louis, perfect in his own sense of the word, and Harry doesn’t get how that’s possible. He doesn’t get why Louis would want to settle for something he’s forced to have, especially not when Louis never expected to be happy. He never wanted his Assignment, he never wanted his job or Niall, none of it, but here he is.  
  
Louis is living the life he was assigned and that’s it. That’s it and Harry knows that it shouldn’t be it. Louis shouldn’t want for that to be it, because Harry doesn’t. And maybe he shouldn’t force those thoughts and feelings on his best friend, but he can’t help it, he’s so tired of being alone and confused and lost, it makes his head spin and his stomach churn uncomfortably just to think about it.  
  
The two of them change the subject after that, talking about Louis’ latest adventures in teaching his students Council mandated material, trying to prepare them for their futures after their ceremony until Niall gets home, cheeks flushed from a day in the sun and a smile on his face.  
  
Harry watches the two of them interact silently. He can see that they’re both happy with what’s been given to them, the life they’ve been forced to live, and it still doesn’t make sense to Harry why that would be. He doesn’t vocalize that thought of course, instead he watches the pair of them until he can’t take anymore and decides to head home.

***

It’s a long walk home, giving Harry plenty of time to think about what’s going to happen tomorrow, his twentieth year ceremony. Not just his ceremony, but also a ceremony for everyone in his city that is embarking on their twentieth year.  
  
Harry knows enough about the ceremonies from all the years that he’s attended throughout his life, and from school, where he’s learned the history of the world, why it has to be the way that it is.  
  
It started nearly a century ago. There was a leader that came to power, elected by the public. According to his history lessons, and from what his dad has told him, he was hell-bent on power, hungry for it, pushed other leaders too far, pushed his citizens too far, until everyone had enough.  
  
That’s when the rebellion started. It didn’t start with a bang, it happened slowly; protests and riots here and there, until suddenly, it became so much more. It became a wave of people around the world fighting to take down unfit leaders that had their own interests at heart instead of the interests of the people they were supposed to be serving, supposed to be protecting.  
  
It was about the citizens, the regular everyday people that wanted the world back. So they fought, they challenged, they did everything they could to earn it back. To take back what was theirs.  
  
The rebellion went on for years. The world was plagued by war, plagued by famine and diseases, because the one thing people don’t think about in war, is all the people that suffer because of it. All the people that have no right to be involved in something like that, who suffer the consequences more than anyone else. The rebellion wiped out hospitals, farms; it destroyed everything until there wasn’t anything left.  
  
Well, there was one thing, Harry supposes. There was the future, because after years of fighting, it settled. The Earth had suffered, and the people even more so. And with the old system torn apart, with the world in shambles, the population reduced drastically, a new system came about.  
  
In school they always said that their world was designed to be better. It was designed to stop the mistakes of the past, to stop the hate and the anger. It was supposed to help them rebuild, help them grow; help society work together so that the rebellion couldn’t ever happen again.

There have always been whispers of a rebellion still happening though, but with most of the world uninhabitable, Harry doesn’t think there’s much stock to any of it. Or at least that’s what his dad tells him when he asks, because Harry is always asking. Always hoping that there are people out there that want to fight what they have, because there’s no way that it’s better. There’s no way people like that would sit around and allow the idea of a twentieth ceremony.

The ceremony is a result of their actions, or so Harry’s told.  
  
It was created so that everyone could be given the life that’ll work out perfectly for them, so they’ll be happy. It’s supposed to take away the competition, the greed, anything that could start another rebellion.  
  
The twentieth ceremony is based on several things. There are several deciding factors in what makes up each individual’s ceremony. First, the Council closely observes them as they operate throughout the city. It’s never been explicitly stated that they’re being watched, but Harry’s mom has taught him enough to know that he needs to be careful about breaking rules. The Council also looks at their evaluations from their schooling, documents teachers have made about each student that can help the Council. And finally, the thing the Council pretends to mean the most, though Harry knows that’s a total wad of shit, is the interviews. The test every nineteen year has to take that allows them to voice their own wishes and desires for their future. All of that used, though none of it revealed, for the ceremony, for each person’s Assignments.  
  
The twentieth ceremony establishes three things: a person’s job, the occupation within the city that the Council deems they’re best suited for, where they’ll be living, and whom they’ll be living with. The person that they’ll be spending the rest of their lives with, their partner.  
  
Tomorrow is Harry’s twentieth ceremony. Tomorrow, Harry finds out the future he’s being given and forced to accept.  
  
Harry doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

***

In the morning, the sky is blue and bright. It looks happy. It bothers Harry as he lies in bed, turned on his side and staring out of his window, watching people mulling around. The people look happy as well, but that doesn’t bother Harry as much as the sky does.  
  
Harry had thought—he had hoped that it would be dark and grey, thick angry storm clouds rolling in, ready to rock the Earth, to let them know how exactly it feels about the ceremony that’s happening this afternoon.  
  
It’s how Harry feels, dark and grey, bubbling with anger because he can’t escape this and it’s not what he wants. But not even the weather can agree with him, not even the weather can be on his side for a change. And it figures, because he can’t control the weather anymore than he can control the ceremony or the life he lives.  
  
He can’t. He just can’t, no matter how unfair he thinks it is.  
  
Harry doesn’t know how long he’s lying there for when his mom enters his room, humming under her breath. She gasps in surprise when she sees he’s awake, her features quickly changing into a smile when he rolls over to look at her. She has his ceremony suit in her hands, grinning as she drapes it on the end of the bed.  
  
“You should be getting up, Harry. You need to get ready,” She says, patting his leg in a pathetic effort to get him up.  
  
Instead of listening, he pulls the blanket further over his shoulder, tucking it under his chin as he watches her move around his room. It’s the last morning he’ll have with her and he wishes she would just sit, maybe run her fingers through hair until he’s fallen asleep like she used to do when he was little. And he’s being overdramatic, because it’s not like he’ll never see her again, but still. She shouldn’t be smiling about all this.  
  
“Harry, come on. Get up.”  
  
“It’s just barely the morning,” Harry tells her, holding onto the blankets tighter when she turns to look at him. “I would just—“ Harry swallows, breathing out harshly for a moment. “I would just really like to be alone right now. Please.”  
  
Anne looks at him for a moment, head cocked to the side, studying him carefully. She sighs, nodding and moving across the room quickly. She bends and he thinks for a second that she’s going to grab the blanket and tug, but instead she smoothes his hair back and kisses him on the forehead. “You have an hour to be alone, okay? And to shower, you can be alone in there, too.”  
  
Harry can’t help the laugh that slips out of him at that, smiling up at her as she takes a step back. “If you’re not showered in an hour, I’m marching back up here and tossing you in myself.”  
  
“That won’t be necessary.”  
  
“We’ll see about that,” she mutters, closing his bedroom door as she goes.  
  
Harry smiles at the door, listening to the sounds of his parents talking from down the hall. Taking a deep breath, he rolls back over so that he can stare out of his window once more, watching people as they rush to get ready for the ceremony. Some of them are already perfectly ready, dressed nicely and painted to perfection.  
  
It’s such bullshit, Harry thinks. He can see that they’re faking it, their excitement about the ceremony. They’re just as anxious as he is. It’s obvious in the tightness of their smile, the way their hands shake. Anyone that’s paying enough attention would be able to see it. But that’s the thing; no one cares to look besides Harry. No one cares if anyone is nervous about the ceremony, only him.  
  
When the people in his town become too much, Harry throws the blanket off his body and heads towards the shower. He tosses his clothes down on the ground, turning on the water until it’s hot and steaming, filling up the room with warmth. He moves quickly, washing his hair and his body, scrubbing his skin until he can feel something, anything.  
  
Afterwards, he dries himself off and carefully steps into the suit that his mother has been working on for months. It’s black, soft against his fingers as he smoothes out the surface. There’s golden bees stitched into the surface of the jacket, standing out nicely against the black, and he knows that it’s something his mother did just for him.  
  
And then he waits, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at the cracks in the floor.

Eventually, his mom finds him. She flutters into the room, already telling him that he better be showered when she falters, smiling in surprise when Harry looks up at her. Harry smiles back before his gaze flicks down to the basket in her hands. He wants to roll his eyes, but instead he stands, letting her brush off his suit.  
  
“You look wonderful,” she mutters, her eyes scanning him carefully. “But we need to do something about that hair.”  
  
“I brushed it,” he tells her, laughing lightly when she looks at him, brow cocked. “I think it looks nice.”  
  
His mom hums, gently shoving him down until he’s sitting on the bed again. She runs a brush through his hair, snagging out the tangles before grabbing a cream like gel and running her fingers through his hair, styling it to the side and brushing it back. “Today’s your ceremony, Harry, you shouldn’t settle for nice,” she says eventually.  
  
“I like nice,” he replies quietly.  
  
“Well, you’ll only have this ceremony once, might as well go all out.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess.”  
  
“Look at me,” she instructs, tilting up his chin so their eyes connect.  
  
Anne runs her fingers down his face, smiling at him as she digs into her basket once more. Harry watches her, studying the lines of her face, the curves of her cheeks, the way her eyes shine when she looks at him. It settles heavily in his stomach, the fact that he’s leaving her this afternoon, that if he were to run, he’d never see her again. Something must be showing on his face, because his mom starts to frown as she brushes a dusty powder across his cheeks, ceasing her mumbling about how he could use a bit of color today.  
  
“Everything okay?” She asks, pulling the brush away from his face to look at him, her eyes studying him carefully.  
  
Harry nods, wetting his lips. “Yeah. Fine.”  
  
“Are you nervous?” She finally asks, once she’s packed everything back into her little basket, standing back with her hands on her hips.  
  
“No, mom. I’m not—“  
  
“Because you shouldn’t be. The ceremony is—“ She pauses, sighing as she reaches out and brushes flecks of the powder on his face off his suit. “It’s a good thing, Harry. It means your life can finally start.”  
  
“I think it started twenty years ago,” he retorts, making her laugh.  
  
“Maybe,” she mutters, squeezing his shoulders. “Maybe. But I think everything is going to be okay for you, Harry. I think you’ll get a job you love, some place you can make a real difference. I know how important that is to you. And I think you’ll—I think your partner is going to be wonderful; I can feel it.”  
  
“What about you?” Harry asks, ignoring everything she’s predicted for him, because this is something that worries him, leaving his mother behind. Not even just if he were to run away, but if he were to stay as well. She’ll be in the same place that she’s always been, except after this evening, she won’t have Harry with her anymore. “Will you be okay?”  
  
Anne smiles at him, patting his cheek softly. “You’re sweet, but it’s not about me. This is about you,” she tells him in a way that he suspects is supposed to be firm. “And it’s okay to be nervous, you know. I was terrified for mine. I remember feeling my knees shake as I walked onto the stage.”  
  
Harry smiles and nods, listening to her retell her twentieth ceremony where she was paired with his dad. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he’s not nervous for the reasons she might think, even if he kind of is…a little bit. Harry doesn’t have him in it to tell his mom that he’s been thinking about running away, disappearing, for the last year of his life; find out if all the stories about runaways are true. It’d be a much better fate than this one.

***

Harry is able to convince his mom to let him head to the ceremony alone. She’s reluctant to do so, but eventually she gives in, squeezing him in a hug as hard as she can before she presses a kiss to his cheek, whispering in his ear that she knows everything is going to be okay. Harry’s dad shrugs at his mom’s actions before he hugs him too, not bothering to offer any promises of any kind. Harry’s grateful for that. He’s not sure he can listen to another person he cares about tell him in a backwards way that he has to accept something he can’t change but so desperately wishes he could.  
  
Harry takes his time moving to the Council building, dragging his feet as he walks the familiar path. It’s an older white building in the center of their city, standing tally and proudly, one of the only standing buildings from before. He stands in front of the building, watching as people file inside quickly, excited for the ceremony to begin.  
  
The white surface is cracking in some places, the color faded and grayed. There is a big archway leading to a giant wooden door, surrounded on all sides by thick pillars, circling around the building entirely. There’s a dome on the roof, painted blue. It’s the most pristine building in the city, and the only ornate structure he’s ever seen. It belongs to the Council, and while he doesn’t know the inner workings of it, he knows that their meetings take place inside, as well as most of the Council duties like interview the nineteen years for their twentieth ceremony.  
  
Eventually, because the crowd outside is beginning to thin out considerably, Harry shuffles inside.

Inside, the ceilings are high and painted, left over from before. He doesn’t get a chance to look at them, (how often is it that he’s actually allowed in the Council building besides the once a year? Not that often) because someone is grabbing onto his elbow and tugging him into a side room where he finds the rest of the nineteen years, or well, he supposes they’re no longer nineteen years since it’s their ceremony.  
  
Harry’s twentieth year group is smaller than the one before, the one Louis was in, but it’s large enough that he knows the wait to hear his name will be almost unbearable, unless his partner has a name that starts before H, and given the amount of letters that is, it’s not likely.  
  
There are people in the room running inspections on them, crews fixing those that they don’t deem worthy enough. Harry slips by one of the inspectors, taking a seat on the floor in the back corner. One girl, not that far from him, is being forced behind a curtain to change her dress.  
  
Harry doesn’t know how long he’s waiting there before he’s being instructed to stand and make his way out of the room, moving behind the rest of the kids his age. They’re brought out slowly and carefully, like they’re in some kind of pageant. Harry keeps his head down and avoids looking into the crowd, choosing instead to focus on finding a seat without drawing attention to himself. He’s sure that in the audience, his mom is complaining under her breath about him not smiling.  
  
He sits between a red-haired girl named Claire in a pale pink dress that drapes across one shoulder and a blonde that he remembers from school but can’t remember the name of, her dress short and gold with flesh-colored material down her arms and across her chest that is covered in jewels. It matches the gold embroidered bees on his suit.  
  
With the twenty years in their seats, it means that everyone is finally here. The crowd is filled; the Council are all sat on the stage with their president in the center, sitting in a chair that looks meant for a king. Harry despises him.  
  
“Welcome,” a woman says, drawing everyone’s attention to her. Harry can’t remember her name, Cynthia, maybe? He’s not sure. She’s wearing a red dress, her hands clasped neatly in front of her as her voice fills up the room. “Years before us, our world, plagued by anger and hate, destroyed through war. Destroyed by a rebellion. Destroyed by the people, with nothing left but the ruined remains of the past, a haunted past, began to rebuild itself. A new system was born, a system designed to prevent the mistakes of our past, to see to that war will never plague our lands again.  
  
“Eighty-three years ago, our world was born again,” she says, hands moving to carefully punctuate her point, “and with it, came new leaders. Leaders that took an oath to protect the people, created a system to give people the most optimum life possible, so that every person, every cherished member of our world could be happy, could be protected. Jobs, homes, and partners, all given to us, all catered to us in a ceremony that honors those who come of age. This year marks the eighty-third ceremony for our beloved twenty years.”  
  
The city cheers for that, clapping along happily as Harry rolls his eyes, clapping his hands obediently as the woman on stage smiles. Cynthia, if that even is her name, lets the cheering slowly fade into silence before she speaks again. “Dominic Caine, our cherished leader of the last two decades, has not only—“  
  
Harry tunes her out as she begins talking about the president, ignoring the holographic images projected on the stage, painting their president in whatever light Cynthia is casting on him. Harry hates him; deep in his bones hates him. And when he stands, Harry can’t help but glare at him, his eyes narrowing as he stands to speak.  
  
“Twenty years, our future, is in your hands. Tonight you’ll be given your Assignments: your homes, your jobs, and your partners. With these, you’ll be able to work towards ensuring that the failures of our past don’t become our future,” he says, smiling down at them.  
  
Harry looks at him, taking in his sleek black hair and harsh brown eyes. He’s unsettling, is what he is, his face barely moving as he speaks, as he tries to express his emotions with just a look.  
  
“Within minutes, you’ll be given these Assignments, Assignments that have been carefully made with the help of your tests and interviews--” and that, Harry thinks, is complete and utter bullshit. The president, that lying, despicable man on stage, has the final say in all Assignments, can change them into whatever he wishes without anyone knowing what their tests say they should have. “--to help give you the best results for not only society, but for yourselves, to keep our world a safe, happy place for all.”  
  
Harry wants to stand up and scream that he’s not happy, that he’ll never be happy. What about his mother? His father? What about Louis’ parents? What about all those people that have been failed and forced to live in a way that is not their choosing, what about that? What about them? They’re not happy.  
  
But he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t.

  
It would—Harry knows it would cause problems for his mother. Cause problems for himself, for whoever they have chosen for him.  
  
“And with that,” the president says, face attempting to pull into a smile, “I am happy to be giving these kids—ah, excuse me, these adults,” he corrects, much to the crowd’s amusement, “their new future, to help guide them into roles in society.”  
  
With that, the ceremony truly begins, as names are slowly called. With each name, someone shuffles on stage, listening to their job Assignment before their partner's name is called and they take their oath before being handed a document and ushered off stage and back to their seats for the next person, the next partnered pair.  
  
Harry is growing more anxious the longer he waits, leg shaking uselessly as he chews on his nails, watching the ceremony unfold. They’re calling up people that he recognizes but he doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen, to himself anyway. He’s hardly paying attention, his mind too busy swimming, until Claire elbows him in the side.

  
Harry looks at her and then realizes that his name has been called. He stands and moves slowly, his legs made of mush. The lights are bright on stage and he can barely see the people that are sitting there, everyone watching him. He’s being talked about as President Caine tells them about his attributes, about his many talents.  
  
“Harry is brave, strong willed, always showing signs of an ambitious nature. Son of Anne and Des, he’s always showed a streak of kindness, of caring for all of those around him, doing anything that he could for them, and with that, Harry, you’ve been chosen as a Healer,” Caine tells him, as the city claps in his honor.  
  
Harry’s not sure how he feels about being a Healer, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it, because another name is called as the noise dies. Harry’s head jerks in the direction of the twenty years, breath coming in quick as he waits to see whom he’s been assigned to. The boy looks nervous, tan skin quickly becoming pale as he moves closer to them. He’s dressed neatly, suit black, matching perfectly to the hair on top his head, thick and styled neatly.  
  
“Zayn is smart, resourceful, always willing to speak up when necessary. Son of Trisha and Yaser, Zayn has never been afraid of hiding his curiosity, excelling in school and personal studies. Zayn, you’ve been chosen as a Historian, chosen to help preserve our history,” Dominic tells him and Harry looks at him, noticing the way Zayn smiles in excitement, obviously pleased with this.  
  
He doesn’t look scared or nervous anymore, his skin no longer pale, but Harry thinks Zayn’s hands are shaking, so Harry counts that as something.  
  
“Zayn and Harry have been chosen for each other,” and at that, Zayn’s skin begins to pale once more, looking at Harry with wide hazel eyes. Harry can’t stop the churn of his stomach as his fate is sealed for him. He doesn’t know this kid. He’s never met him before. He doesn’t know him. And he hates that it has to be this way.  
  
When President Caine finishes talking about their union, their partnership, and the responsibilities this brings, they’re both asked if they agree to their lives together, if they’ll take the oath.  
  
Harry can’t remember if he agreed or not, but President Caine nods at them in dismissal as papers are shoved into his hands, so Harry moves back to his seat, sparing a quick glance to the other side of the twenty years section where Zayn takes his seat before he takes his own. People around him are congratulating him, patting him on the back as Harry stares at the floor, wondering how any of this is happening to him.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry waits to look inside of the folder until after the ceremony.

He leaves with everyone else, on autopilot, letting his legs drag him out of the council building and into the streets. He lets his mom kiss his cheeks when she finds him, gushing over how happy she is, while his father stands aside and watches, shrugging at Harry when their eyes connect. Harry doesn’t know what it means, but deep down, he likes to imagine that his dad gets it. On some level, he gets it.

Louis finds him at one point, pulling him into a hug and reminding him that everything will be okay. Harry doesn’t listen, just clutches his folder to the side of his body and lets everything happen around him.

He almost forgets about Zayn until he sees his name inside the folder.

It’s written in bold black ink, right next to the partner section. Harry wonders, for a moment, if he should be finding him, but decides against it. Instead, he lets his feet carry him around town, the folder open in his hands as he reads.

It’s mostly just information about his job, where he’ll be going – as if he doesn’t know where medical is – and his housing information. Their housing information, he supposes. His and Zayn’s. His and the boy he’s seen for an entire minute out of his life, that boy.

It’s the house that they’re going to be in for the rest of their lives, unless by some sheer act of desperation they’re selected to expand their family beyond four.

Which will not be happening.

Harry takes his time. He feels no need to rush.

Their house is in another sector of the city, closer to the edge, whereas his house with his family was closer to everything else. Now he’s further away, almost like he’s being shunned or something, like the council didn’t think he should be living around other people anymore. It does nothing to make him feel better about this situation that he’s being forced into.

Eventually though, because it’s dark and Harry knows he’s going to get in trouble if he stays out much later, he moves towards his house.

Zayn’s sitting outside when he gets there, arms wrapped around his body as he fights off the chill in the air, despite still being in the suit that he wore during the ceremony.

Harry stands at the edge of their yard, staring at him for a moment.

“What are you doing out here?” Harry asks when he’s closer, body a few feet away from Zayn’s.

Zayn shrugs, brushing off his pants as he stands. “It felt weird to see it first. To see it without you, I guess.”

Harry just looks at him because it really doesn’t matter to him, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods and opens the door. Zayn moves in behind him, getting the lights on so there’s a warm glow over everything that they’re supposed to call home now.

It’s almost the same as his old house, but it’s not. It’s different. It doesn’t smell the same, like comfort. It’s not familiar. The couch is a soft grey color instead of a warm cream, and it’s all rich dark woods for tables and shelves. The floors just a pinch lighter in color, but still darker than the ones from his - he shouldn’t call it his house anymore - his parent’s house. It smells like wood, actually, and it makes Harry’s nose wrinkle.

Harry sighs. He knows that he’s not being fair to the house, it’s done nothing wrong, after all, but it’s not—It’s just not home. Not yet. He’s not sure if it’ll ever be. The thought of this place—of…that boy becoming home scares him. It scares him straight down in his core and leaves him breathless.

“It’s nice,” Zayn says eventually; smile soft when he looks at Harry. “Do you like it?”

Harry shrugs. “It’s okay. Different.”

Zayn nods, running his fingers along the back of the couch. He doesn’t talk much, Harry notices, remembering the bit in the ceremony where President Caine called Zayn soft-spoken.

Harry wonders if Zayn’s just shy, or if he’s against this whole thing as well.

“Do you want to see the upstairs?” Zayn asks, turning to look back at Harry, one foot on the staircase.

Harry nods, hesitating for a moment before he turns the lights off. As they navigate the stairs, Harry realizes how tired he is, how exhausted his entire body feels from lack of sleep and the over all mental stress of the day.

Zayn’s waiting for him on the landing, hands behind his back like he’s expecting Harry to say where he wants to explore first, and honestly, Harry’s just too tired for anything else tonight.

“I’ll take that one,” Harry says, pointing towards a door that he knows is a bedroom based on the layout of his—his parent’s house. God, he really needs to remember that that’s not his house anymore. This is.

Zayn frowns, opening his mouth to say something before he stops himself, mouth closing with a sigh.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Nothing…just—“ He shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing.”

Harry looks at him for a moment, waiting to see if Zayn will crack and tell him. He doesn’t, so Harry shrugs, wrapping his fingers around the door handle.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess,” Harry says, pushing the door open.

“Yeah, night.”

“Night,” Harry mutters, and once the door is shut properly, he leans against it with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and listening to Zayn’s footsteps as he moves away from Harry’s room.

He’s sleeping in a house with a boy he doesn’t know, a boy he’s going to be sharing a home with for as long as he’s alive. It’s a lot to take in.

***

There’s breakfast on the table when Harry finally makes his way downstairs in the morning.

The majority of his day thus far has been spent listening to Zayn try and be silent as he navigates throughout the house – failing miserably at it, if Harry’s being honest – as Harry stares at himself in his Healer’s uniform. He feels ridiculous in his blue clothes, the material thin and pliant, unlike the stiff uniform his father wore to work everyday.

Zayn’s uniform is different; he’s wearing black pants and a grey shirt. It almost looks like a normal outfit, not like something he’d wear to his assigned work place.

So there’s breakfast on the table, and judging by the look on Zayn’s face, Harry thinks it’s an olive branch of sorts. Some kind of peace offering, not because he’s done anything wrong, but because Zayn wants to start this thing off right…this first day of—Well, it’s the first day of everything, isn’t it?

And since Harry’s not a total fucking dick, he sits down and begins to eat. Zayn seems to sigh behind him, like he was holding his breath to wait and see what Harry would do before he takes his place next to him, digging into his own meal.

It’s actually really good, the eggs and meat, small bits of fruit.

“This is good,” Harry tells him, because he should know that. Zayn should know that Harry appreciates having food made for him despite the fact that he didn’t ask for it.

Zayn’s ears turn pink, which is interesting, but Harry’s not concerned enough to really think about it. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure—well, I mean, it’s sort of impossible to actually know for anyone, but I wasn’t sure what you like.”

“I like everything,” Harry answers. He doesn’t care. He’s never been picky when it comes to food. His mom has always made sure that Harry ate everything she put in front of him, always made sure that he was appreciative of the little food that they were given. And Harry is, appreciative of it, which is why he wants to make sure that Zayn knows he’s thankful for what’s in front of him.

Zayn nods. “Okay.” He watches Harry as he eats, taking slow, careful bites. “What’s your job today, again?”

“Healing.”

“I thought so,” he says, to which Harry raises an eyebrow at him, because Zayn was there when the Harry was given his assignment. “It’s the blue. My mom is a Healer. Maybe you’ll meet her.”

Harry opens his mouth, stopping himself immediately and swallowing down the words that were about to pour out. He’s about to say something rude, so he tucks those words away and folds them up, locking them away. Instead of saying anything, Harry smiles at Zayn and goes back to eating.

Zayn shifts, resting his elbow on the table. Harry can feel his eyes on him, but he ignores it, choosing instead to focus on the food in front of him.

“What do your parents do?” Zayn asks, a few minutes later, when it’s obvious that Harry’s not going to offer anything to the conversation. Harry chews on his food, staring at Zayn, watching Zayn bite on his bottom lip, waiting. “My dad does construction stuff. I don’t think he built this house, but I know he’s built other things. He’s fixed parts of the Council building before.”

“My mom works in the nursery, with the small kids,” Harry tells him, ignoring the way Zayn relaxes when Harry finally replies. “My dad works with our food. He rations it out.”

“Oh. Well,” Zayn says, nodding, “That’s an important job. I would think. Do you think they do anything else there? Or is it just—“

“As for as I know, it’s just that.”

“Oh,” Zayn mutters quietly, biting down on his bottom lip.

Zayn must think that the conversation is over because he frowns, staring at Harry before he pokes at his food. Harry feels a bit bad for being an ass, because he is being one, even if it is unintentional, but Zayn’s already putting a forkful of eggs in his mouth, staring down at the table with the morning light shining on his face, like he doesn’t even want the conversation to pick back up again. So Harry joins him in silence and eats.

***

The building where Harry’s supposed to go as a healer is nearly on the other side of their town. It’s away from the forest, away from the busy center and Council building. It’s tucked away neatly near the fields where food is grown, where the schools are that the under twenties learn at.

It’s a fairly large building, rounder than most of the other, with multiple floors. It’s one of their largest structures they have, aside from the Council building. It’s grey and industrial looking, so unlike the soft woods of the houses or the pristine white of the Council building. It’s stark and clinical, everything that it needs to be and nothing more. It’s there for healing, for housing the sick and injured.

Harry walks the open path towards it, passing what he knows used to be a fountain, a pretty structure that is supposed to flow water in beautiful ways, at least that’s what his mother always told him. A story that her mother told her, and maybe it is just that, a story. Harry’s not sure, because now—Now it’s a flowerpot, filled with pink roses that compliment the shrubs lining the walkway to the entrance.

Harry’s first day as a Healer isn’t what he thought it would be, mostly because no healing actually takes place. Instead, it’s mostly some kind of training of sorts, an advanced crash course on everything that he needs to know about what they’ll be doing.

He watches the other Healers, the older, more experienced Healers, as they perform their daily tasks. Harry helps with drawing blood, listening to hearts, and examining scans that he can’t read just yet.

It’s all sort rudimentary, in a way.

Harry remembers a few things from his time in school, from visiting the Healers when he was a kid and he would get hurt, but, so far, he really doesn’t think that they’re teaching him anything that he doesn’t really know. Maybe how to do things, sure, but—Well, Harry’s not sure that this is the right place for him.

A small woman, with curly red hair and sharp blue eyes, tells him that he’ll know his place soon enough.

“The first few weeks you’ll do rounds, working in different places, while we try and figure out where to put you,” she explains. “Everyone has a knack for something.”

Harry nods and follows her quietly, because like with everything, the Council is testing him once more, this time using the other Healers to figure out his results instead of tossing Harry into some room with a Council lackey, which is—It’s not unexpected, as with most things, they’re always being tested, all of their choices taken away from them.

As the day drags on, though, Harry finds that being a Healer isn’t too bad. He doesn’t actually mind, which he hates thinking about, because he should hate it, shouldn’t he? He thinks he should, anyway.

But as it stands, he doesn’t. At least not right now.

Before he leaves, they give him a stack of blue uniforms, identical to the one that he’s wearing so that he doesn’t have to come back in dirty clothes. He’s grateful for that, since the little girl Laura – the redhead he was following around – had helped earlier in the day pitched a fit about her medicine, which resulted it being slapped out of Harry’s hand and covering the front of his shirt. It’s still sticky, so he carries the uniforms away from his chest as he walks home.

Zayn’s already home when Harry gets back, hidden by the wall separating the kitchen from the remainder of the bottom level. Harry can smell food cooking; he can hear whatever Zayn is doing from where he’s at by the door.

Harry forgoes a greeting; instead he stomps up the stairs, uniform in hand to take a shower.

He makes it halfway to the top of the stairs when Zayn calls out, “Harry? Is that you?”

“It’s me,” Harry calls back.

Harry doesn’t hear whatever Zayn says as he’s shutting his bedroom door. He breathes slowly, then opens the chest and sets his uniform inside with the rest of his clothing that’s in there. He’ll have to go see his mom to get the rest of his stuff, since everything in these drawers was provided by the Council, and as great as all that is, he wants his own things.

When Harry finally makes it back downstairs, Zayn is finishing with the food. Harry stands in the entry to the kitchen, watching as Zayn maneuvers around the room, already familiar with their little house, as he fills plates with food.

Harry can’t figure out how he feels about the fact that Zayn is making them both meals like their partnership actually means something, like it actually means what it’s supposed to mean. Like they’re both here because they chose it, like Zayn stepped into this role because he wanted to instead of being forced.

Harry doesn’t know what to make about it all.

But he does know that Zayn cooked, so he feels obligated to eat what Zayn’s made for them, so he takes his seat at the table, smiles when Zayn sets food down in front of him, a nervous curl to his lips as he sits down as well.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry, since you just got home, but,” Zayn sighs, shrugging. “I was starving when I got back, which was only a few minutes before you, I think. I don’t know, kind of got lost down in the cellar trying to figure out what to make.”

“It’s fine,” Harry tells him, smiling quickly as he takes his first bite.

“Good. That’s good. So. Uh. Your first day, how was it?”

Harry shrugs. “Same as any other, I think.”

“Yeah. It’s always kind of boring, isn’t it?”

Harry nods and eats, not saying anything else. He’s tired.

“What did you do?”

“Followed people around. Watched them as they worked. Got kicked in the thigh by a little girl right before she knocked her medication all over me. Among other things.”

“Oh,” Zayn mutters, eyes wide. “Wow. That’s—wow,” he laughs, for a second, shaking his head. “My mom used to have a ton of stories like that, so I guess you’ll have to get used to that.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’m not sure they’ll make me work with kids, though.”

“Well, no. But. Well, there are still some strange things that happen when you work with any age group, at least that’s what my mom says.”

Harry shrugs. “Maybe. I guess I’ll figure it out as the weeks go by.”

“Yeah, you will,” Zayn replies, smiling at him before he takes a bite of his food.

Harry has to admit that Zayn’s meals are absolutely delicious, some of the best that he’s had from anyone besides his parents. Which is a plus, for him, if Zayn’s going to take it upon himself to cook their meals. Not like Harry is going to make him take on that burden, but still. He’s good. The food is good.

“My day wasn’t nearly as exciting as that,” Zayn says eventually, after a few minutes of silence.

Harry stares at him for a moment, watching as Zayn stares at his plate, flicking a few quick glances at Harry periodically, like he’s waiting for something.

“What did you do?” Harry asks, not even sure that he was supposed to ask, since it seems like Zayn likes just dumping information on Harry whether he wants to hear it or not. “Wait. What did they assign you?”

“Historian,” Zayn mutters, blushing. “We mostly went over job details. I met the other people, talked to them for a bit, and then we all ate lunch together in this big office space. I think they do it everyday, but. I don’t know. I’d rather eat outside, with everyone else, since I’m indoors all the time.”

“Then don’t eat with them.”

“Yeah, but. They do it everyday.”

Harry snorts. “Who cares?”

“I—“ Zayn sighs, deflating.

Harry shrugs, going back to his food and ignoring the way that he’s probably ruined another meal. Their second meal together and he’s ruined it. He’s ruined them both, with no signs of breaking the streak anytime soon.

Of course he doesn’t want to make things awkward between them and ruin the conversations that Zayn starts, but it’s just that… Well, he doesn’t really know Zayn.

Harry’s not entirely comfortable talking to him, and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t really want him around. Which isn’t really fair, because Zayn is giving him plenty of chances, despite the fact that they’re both in this shitty situation, and Zayn’s at least trying to make it better.

Zayn’s trying to make this…this thing they’ve been thrown into better, for both of them. Maybe…Maybe Harry should follow his lead and give the poor kid a break.

***

Harry doesn’t follow Zayn’s lead.

Harry doesn’t change his behavior at all, neither does Zayn, which probably makes Zayn the better person, but Harry’s not concerned.

Days go by, one after another, in a blur of carefully Council calculated routine, with Harry waking up in the morning, eating whatever Zayn has made since he always wakes before Harry, no matter how hard Harry tries to be up before him. After breakfast, Harry goes to work and continues his training, because he still hasn’t been placed in his permanent section yet. He’s closer, they tell him, but he’s not sure that he believes them. Following work, Harry goes home where Zayn is waiting with food, because just like in the mornings, Zayn always gets home before Harry.

That is one new development, though. Home.

In between stunted silences and awkward conversation, Harry has accepted – which is entirely too strong of a word, in Harry’s opinion - that the house with Zayn is his home.

But this is Harry’s life day in and day out, the same thing, one day after the next. He sleeps, he eats, he works, he eats again, he sits in his room, and then he sleeps again. The only spice of life is Zayn’s attempts at conversation. Futile attempts, but attempts nonetheless.

Zayn tries, but Harry doesn’t budge with him.

He doesn’t want to and he shouldn’t have to, or so he thinks, anyway.

But…well, if Harry’s being honest, and he should be, shouldn’t he? Zayn’s nice. He’s friendly, and he’s genuinely interested in Harry, so Harry doesn’t shut him out completely. He answers whatever questions Zayn has for him, talks when things are directed towards him, but he never extends the same courtesy.

Harry learns a few things about Zayn, though.

Zayn likes to spend his time outside gathering food from their garden, tending to it when he feels like he should. He likes making food, their meals. One night, when Harry sat at the table while Zayn cooked, Zayn told him how he used to do it with his mother when he lived at home. But most of all, Harry thinks, Zayn enjoys reading.

Harry doesn’t know how it happened, but there’s a shelf in the corner of the living room filled with books. Most of them are without covers, dirty and old. Zayn sits on the couch, curled up in the corner and reads them after dinner, his face shoved in the pillows. Harry watches him sometimes, stands in the other room with a glass of water in his hands and wonders where the books come from. Harry’s never realized that they were allowed to have books outside of textbooks for school.

“I go through books at work,” Zayn explains to him, finger dragging slowly down the spine of the book. “Some of these I brought home to go over here, but... Well, some of them, I keep because they’re not helpful.”

“Not helpful?” Harry repeats, standing in front of the couch and looking down at Zayn thoughtfully. “What are you—What do they make you look for in them?”

“Our history.”

“Our history?”

Zayn nods, looking up at Harry, smile soft. “Yeah. Historian. It’s what we do. Preserve history. Most of this is from Before, actually all of it is. We’re supposed to sort through it and find what’s useful.”

“Useful?” Harry asks, frowning as he takes a seat next to Zayn. “What does that mean?”

“It means that some books are written for information, like the textbooks at school. Those are meant to teach us something, which is why we go through books from Before, to learn what we need to pass on.”

Harry nods, thoughtful. “And some of it’s not useful?”

“Some of it’s not useful.”

“Who decides that?”

“The Council, I guess. But they taught us what to do during our training. They had these example books laid out on a table,” Zayn tells him, using his hands to motion in front of him. “They went through them and showed us how to analyze them to find what’s really important, what’s useful and what’s not. What we can put in our own books and what we can get rid of.”

It sounds like something that the Council is trying to hide from the general public. It sounds like Zayn could know things that other people don’t. It sounds like—It sounds confusing, mostly. “Why would you want to get rid of something? What would be something you want to get rid of?” Harry asks.

Zayn sighs, unfolding his legs and motioning towards the book in his lap. “Well, like I was saying earlier, some books are written for information, to pass it along to other people. But some books are just written to be written.”

“Written to be written?”

“They’re stories,” Zayn explains. “Some books convey stories, made up in a person’s mind, with no connection to the real world. Those, according to the Council, aren’t necessary, and we’re supposed to hand them over, for what I don’t know.”

Harry frowns, looking at the book in Zayn’s lap. It’s worn and old, the binding frayed at the top. Harry can see that the pages are yellowed from age. There’s nothing about the outside that tells him what’s inside, which makes Harry wonder if it’s one of the books that Zayn mentioned, one of the ones that aren’t deemed worthy by the Council, or if he’s flipping through pages of their history that Harry has yet to know about.

But what Harry can see is Zayn. He can see the look in his eyes, as he talks about the books that don’t pass inspection. There’s a fire there, soft and tamed, so unlike the fire burning inside of Harry.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” asks Zayn, his brows pulled together in confusion.

Harry nods towards the book in Zayn’s lap. “What are those books according to you?”

“I think theirs just as much to learn from Before in these as there is in the books that the Council likes. I think the real thing of it is, is that the Council doesn’t want to see that, because what you’re looking for isn’t as clear as it is with the other books. With these, it’s more obscure,” says Zayn. “That’s what I think.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know what to do with Zayn’s untamed fire, so he doesn’t say anything. He offers Zayn a small smile, just the briefest upturn to the corners of his mouth before he walks out of the room.

***

Harry finds a table under a tree for lunch. He sits away from everyone else, his back to the other people, with a plate of food in front of him. The afternoon is warm and bright. The sun beats down on the back of his neck, a welcoming feeling after a long morning in the chilly Healing building.

Harry sees people that he knows. Fellow healers and people that he went to school with, ones still in school and ones that have been placed in other jobs, people that lived near him at his parents’ house. He doesn’t see Zayn, or anyone dressed similarly that could look like they work with him. And he doesn’t see his mom, much to his disappointment, but he knows that he will, eventually.

Harry watches people as they find places to eat their lunch, the crowd growing larger as people are released for lunch. None of them appear to be in any kind of rush, taking their time as they mull about the square, food in hand and smiles on their faces, talking and laughing with each other.

No one pays him attention, but that’s fine, Harry wants this time to be alone, to get his mind back before he loses it again to healing. He doesn’t want to interact with anyone right now, he just wants to eat his food and relax.

Unconcerned with what Harry wants, someone drops down across from him, slamming their food down on the table before dropping down noisily. Harry looks up, unsure if he wants to sigh or get up and move, until his eyes connect with the blue of his best friend’s.

Louis grins at Harry, cheeks flushed. He’s dressed in a white shirt, buttons done to the top and sleeves rolled up.

“You looked lonely,” Louis says, words jumbled from food.

“Did I?” Harry drawls, bored and tired.

“No, actually, but I’m a good friend so I’m not going to leave you here alone.”

“What if I want to be alone?”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t?” Harry repeats, brow cocked.

“Nope. If you did, then you’d do more than turn your back on everyone,” reasons Louis, shrugging. “You’d actually be off hiding somewhere.”

Harry smiles, laughing when Louis winks at him. “Fair point.”

“Yes, it is. And since you’re not off somewhere hiding, tell me, who has our young Harold eating outside? Waiting on anyone in particular?” asks Louis, waggling his brows at Harry.

Harry frowns. “No, not really.” Louis hums, unconvinced by this, making Harry frown deeper. “I wanted to get out of healing. It’s nice out and awful in there.”

“Oh? Is it?”

“Yeah, it is,” says Harry, sitting up straighter and resting his elbows on the edge of the table. “Now, what is it exactly that you’re trying to fish for? Because I know you Louis, and I know you want something.”

Louis grins, wide and unnerving. “I’m not fishing for anything, just wondering where your boy is, and if you’re waiting on him.”

“My boy?” Harry repeats, eyes narrowing. “What boy?”

“Your chosen boy,” Louis says slowly. “Your partner. Your—What’s his name again? Zayn?”

“Zayn is—I don’t know where Zayn is. He’s probably eating lunch with his friends, who, hopefully, if he’s lucky, aren’t as annoying as you are. Or he’s eating lunch where he works, I don’t know. Couldn't tell you even if I cared, or wanted to,” Harry tells him.

Louis nods, thoughtful. “I was only asking, no need to rip my head off about it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you were.”

“I was. I haven’t seen you in a while, and I wasn’t sure if maybe you and he liked to eat lunch together.”

“We eat together enough.”

“Oh?”

Harry rolls his eyes, taking a bite of his food. “What?”

“Nothing, I’m just glad that you’re spending time with him.”

“Kind of hard not to when we live together.”

“Yeah, true enough,” Louis mumbles, nodding. “What’s his job again?”

“He’s a historian.”

“Ah, yeah. Does he like it?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know. He’s never said.”

Louis frowns, brows pulling together. “Have you ever asked?” Harry shakes his head in response. “Harry. You’ve never asked him how he likes his job?”

“What does it matter if he likes his job or not? He’s stuck doing it for the rest of his life.”

“Harry,” Louis sighs, shaking his head. He rests his elbows on the table, putting his head in his hands, and takes a deep breath. “Do you ask him anything? Like what he does at his job? What he likes to do? About his family? Anything?”

Harry looks down at his food, pushing some peas across his tray. He shrugs when he looks back up at Louis, because he knows some things about Zayn. Things that he’s observed, and he’s asked about the book thing, and Zayn explained, in more words, how he enjoys reading the books and he does it for work. Harry knows that.

Harry knows what Zayn’s shown him, and a little bit of what he’s told him, but not much else. And the same goes for Zayn; he knows what Harry has told him, not anything more, not anything less.

“Harry,” Louis mutters, sounding disappointed, as he shakes his head.

And Harry doesn’t want to hear it. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t have answers for all these questions.”

“Because you’re not even trying,” Louis accuses, voice louder than before, anger written on his face. Harry rolls his eyes, shrugging. “No, none of that, Harry. This—I know you don’t like to hear it, but this is a forever kind of thing, and Zayn—Zayn’s not going anywhere. Don’t you at least want to keep things remotely civil?”

“Things are plenty civil between us,” Harry retorts.

Louis laughs, bitter and hollow. “There’s nothing between you.”

“Louis, it’s been two weeks. We’re managing, okay?” Harry states, glaring at his best friend. “I’ll do what it is that I want with my life, and if I want to avoid Zayn, then I’m going to.”

They stare at each other for a moment, glances heated, as the world moves on around them. Harry doesn’t check to see if they’ve gotten anyone’s attention; he keeps his eyes trained on Louis, unwavering in his stance on the matter, but Louis doesn’t look like he’s willing to budge much either.

Eventually, with a sigh, Louis shakes his head and looks back down at his food.

Harry can feel the disappointment in the gesture, can see it in the drop of Louis’ shoulders. He can feel it in the air around them, suffocating him as he drops his fork down, no longer interested in eating.

“I need to get back to healing,” Harry mumbles, standing so he can gather up his things.

Louis nods but shows no other signs that he’s heard. Harry wants to reach out and touch his arm, promise his best friend that no matter what happens between Harry and Zayn, things will be fine. Louis doesn’t need to worry about Harry or his life, Harry’ll manage to figure it out on his own, like he always has.

***

Later in the evening, Harry finds himself alone in his bedroom as he always does, bored and tired.

Outside, the sun is beginning to set. Harry can see the sharp pinks and oranges spread across the sky, casting a fiery glow across his bedroom. He lies there, on his bed, watching as day slowly begins to fade into night.

There’s an itch under his skin that he can’t figure out. It nags at him as he lies there, a silent urge at him to move, to do anything other than spend his evening in his bedroom. So, listening to the urge, Harry pulls himself out of bed, moving towards the bedroom door.

The house is silent when he steps out of his room, no noise other than his feet against the wooden floors. He spares a glance towards Zayn’s room, straining to hear if he’s inside of it. He doesn’t even consider knocking, of course he doesn’t.

Harry finds Zayn, as he always does. He sees him through the glass of the door, standing in their yard, in the garden. Zayn has a basket on the ground, waiting for him as he moves around the garden, grabbing things and holding onto them until he moves past the basket once more.

Harry stands there, watching Zayn. He thinks about what Louis said earlier, how Harry’s really not trying and there’s nothing between them besides what the Council has put there. A future that neither of them asked for, circumstances that aren’t ideal, but it’s not Harry’s fault, and it’s not Zayn’s. It’s the way things are, and because of that, this is how life brought them together.

Harry steps away from the door, taking a seat at the table as Zayn comes inside. He offers Harry a smile, soft and shy, as he sets the basket down on the counter.

Watching as Zayn cleans his hands, Harry realizes that maybe Louis is right. Harry is going to spend his lifetime with that boy, with Zayn, in this house. Together, the two of them, forever unless Harry can figure out how to get out of town without becoming another prop in people’s stories or a revolution happens. And with the probability of that being slim to none, Harry stands up, joins Zayn and washes his hands.

“Do you want me to make something to eat?” Harry asks, startling Zayn.

Zayn stares at him, eyes wide and mouth gaped. “Do you know how?” He asks eventually, slowly and carefully.

The question startles Harry, forcing a laugh out of him. “Yeah, I know how,” Harry says, and Zayn seems confused by that, brows furrowed as he watches Harry like he’s waiting for some kind of punch line.

Gathering wood out of the corner of the room, Harry sees Zayn shrug, and taking that as Zayn’s answer, Harry shoves the wood in the oven, wanting to get the fire started. Once Harry’s sure that it’s lit and ready, he steps around a still stunned Zayn, heading towards the cellar to grab some of their meats that Zayn has stored down there.

As Harry gathers the meat, he feels a bit badly for not doing his share and getting their rations, but. Well, Zayn seems to like doing it, or at least seems to think Harry is incapable of doing absolutely anything besides avoid him, if his reaction to Harry wanting to cook is anything to go by.

Zayn is in the kitchen slicing vegetables when Harry gets back, because of course he couldn’t resist helping. Harry rolls his eyes at him, as he sets the meat to the side, wanting to give the fire in the oven more time to get going before he focuses on that, just like the way his mother likes to do it.

“I noticed that you’ve been getting our rations,” Harry says, grabbing some carrots out of the basket so he can begin washing them. “I also noticed that I haven’t been getting them, so…I don’t know. Do you want me to start getting them?”

“No,” Zayn mutters, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Everything is close to where I am anyway, when I leave work, so. Yeah. It’s not a problem for me.”

Harry nods and then shrugs, shutting off the water. “It wouldn’t be a problem for me either, if you wanted me to get them.”

“No, really. I pass it on the way home, anyway, so it’s fine. Honestly.”

“Well, the offer is there, in the future, if you need me to.”

“Yeah, all right,” Zayn says, eyes trained on the food in front of him.

Harry looks at him for a moment, watching as Zayn meticulously slices the food in front of him, cutting it neatly and then pushing it off towards the side in quick, practiced work that only someone used to making meals would know how to do. Harry notices the way that Zayn’s shoulders drop, the tension leaving as he glances up, looking at Harry thoughtfully.

“You know how to do this?”

“Do what?” Harry asks, frowning.

Zayn waves his hand without the knife around the kitchen. “This. Prepare and cook food.”

“Of course I do. Everyone knows how to cook, don’t they?”

“You look lost.”

“Oh, I was just—“

“Watching me?” Zayn finishes for him, head cocked to the side. “Because you’re confused, or?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I’m not lost. I was just--” Harry coughs, clearing his throat, “I was just watching.”

“Oh,” Zayn mutters, cheeks pink as he picks the knife back up. “Well, it’s your night to cook, I guess, so what are you going to make? Here, let me cut those, you’re…not very good at it. Sorry.” Zayn laughs as he snags the carrots from Harry, who doesn’t take any offense to the comment as he grabs the meat again.

“I thought about making some kind of roast. My mom always used to make it when me or my dad had a bad day, so,” Harry shrugs, because it sounds better in his head, his reasoning for making dinner.

“You had a bad day?”

“I don’t know. Yeah, a little bit. I guess. It wasn’t awful, but. Could have been better, I suppose.”

“Did something happen?”

“Besides the patient with a broken ankle that spent more time yelling at me than listening to how he should care for that, yeah. My best friend happened,” Harry mutters, finishing the prep on the meat on so he can put it and the vegetables in the oven.

“Your best friend,” Zayn mumbles, nodding thoughtfully as he dumps the vegetables in the dish. “Louis Tomlinson, right?”

Harry raises a brow, leaning back and watching Zayn. “How did you know that?”

“I think most people know that you’re friends,” Zayn reasons. “Anyone paying attention would know that.”

“Paying attention to what? Me?”

“No, just things in general.”

“Things?”

Zayn nods. “Yeah. Louis is loud, sometimes. It’s hard to miss him. Most people know him, or of him, at least.”

“You know?”

“Of him, yeah. I know he used to be a troublemaker. My mom always said to stay away from him. She said he’d probably end up getting me in more trouble than I could care to be in,” Zayn admits with a laugh, shaking his head.

Harry frowns, sliding the roast into the oven and turning to glare at Zayn. “Your mom doesn’t know Louis.”

“Never said she did.”

“So she can’t assume—“ Harry breathes deeply, releasing it slowly. “He’s a troublemaker, I suppose, but he’s not going to force someone into doing something they don’t want to do. He’ll shove you in the direction of he wants you to do, pushing you to do it, but ultimately, he’ll let you make your own decisions. He’ll be a pain in the ass the entire way, thought,” Harry admits, shaking his head, knowing that’s how Louis is going to be until he’s satisfied with where Zayn and Harry are together.

“I never thought he was a troublemaker,” Zayn says, shrugging when Harry looks at him. “It’s like they said during his ceremony, in less words, of course, but he’s full of life. Nothing wrong with that.”

“That’s one way to avoid calling someone annoying.”

Zayn breathes out a laugh, smiling at Harry, and it’s relaxed, for the first time that Harry’s noticed. “That’s one way of putting it,” he says, soft and just a touch of fond that makes Harry want to put distance between them. Makes him want to escape into the woods until they’re back to where they were before, but Louis’ words nip at the back of his mind, reminding him of what the future has in store for him.

“Well,” Zayn says after a beat, rubbing his hands together in front of him. “I imagine dinner is going to take a minute, and I’ve brought some books home, so.” He waves over his shoulder, motioning towards the other room, and Harry nods, looking down at the floor and listening to the soft sounds of Zayn leaving the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was edited on 48 hours of no sleep, so if there are any mistakes please very kindly and gently let me know. I apologize if there are! I also apologize for the very long wait ,if the 48 hours of no sleep doesn't tell you how awful school has been, then I hope the month wait has. The next chapter will be up sooner than this was, as my last homework assignments are due Tuesday. Thanks for your patience and I hope you all enjoy this. The next chapter will have LOADS of Zarry. 
> 
> If you wanna, you can find me on [tumblr.](http://alnimawrites.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for minor hints of violence, not between Zayn and Harry, though. Nothing graphic or detailed, it's mostly alluded to and very brief.

Harry chooses to not spend as much time in his room. It’s an easy decision, all things considered. Talking to Zayn is easier than it has been, though the conversations are never the most stimulating, but it is progress, he supposes. Plus, there’s only so much staring at the wall that a person can do. So, sitting in the living room with Zayn it is.

Zayn is tucked into the far corner of the couch, a book in his lap. Harry is spread out on the other side, curled up so his feet don't kick Zayn when he moves. His eyes are closed, head resting against the back cushion, trying to relax after the long day. He still hasn’t been placed in Healing, so he’s starting to feel like he’s dragging his feet and it leaves a feeling of unease deep in his belly.

Out of all of the areas, Harry’s keen on the emergency unit. The patients come and go quickly, leaving little time for relationships or attachments to build. A man with a broken leg, taken care of and released as quickly as he can be, a woman with burns from hot liquid mended and on the go before the day is over. Harry likes the efficiency of it.

Harry likes being able to get his work done without worry or without painfully awkward conversations that last longer than a few moments because in Emergency all Harry has to do is ask them about what happened, their pain level, minimal words that relate strictly to the job. It’s nice. And it means every day is different, which is really the most important aspect of all, to Harry.

“Hey,” Zayn mutters, gently nudging Harry’s ankle.

Harry hums in response, eyes still closed as he waits. It’s their thing now, it seems. While the conversations are a little easier, Harry still has difficulty actually starting them, so he leaves that to Zayn, like what’s happening now.

“You didn’t ask me how work was today,” says Zayn. 

Harry sighs, stretching out for a moment before he curls back up. “How was work?” He asks dutifully, scratching his nose.

“I read a book.”

“Mhm.”

“I learned something from Before. Well, about Before? I guess. I don’t know. I had read about it before in one of the books that people write for fun, so I thought they made it up, but I read it today again, so I don’t think they did,” Zayn explains, and Harry cracks an eye open to see Zayn frowning down at the floor in thought.

“What’d you read?” Harry asks, pulling his face out of the cushion and rolling onto his back so he can look at Zayn.

“It’s this park.”

“We have parks.”

“Yeah, but not like this. These are designed for fun. They’re called amusement parks.”

Harry frowns, lifts his brow and tries to imagine such a thing. “An amusement park? Why is that in a book?”

“I don’t know. It was about some guy. He created a park that was designed so people could have fun, together. It had these…machines. People sat in them and they did things, I guess.”

“What kind of things?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn admits, shrugging. “It seems weird, to sit there and let the machine do whatever it does, for amusement.”

“Hard to say when you’ve never done it before,” Harry reasons, wanting to laugh at the frown on Zayn’s face, like he can’t accept the fact he doesn’t understand the purpose of something from Before. Which makes sense considering his job, but Harry’s still allowed to find it entertaining.

Zayn nods. “I suppose that’s true, I don’t know. The pictures were nice, though,” sighs Zayn, laughing lightly. “They were big. These giant structures that moved around quickly and did flips and spins, taking people high into the sky.”

“Sounds like it would have been fun,” Harry decides, shrugging when Zayn looks at him, a curious expression on his face.

“Fun, but scary,” Zayn tacks on.

“Maybe that’s why it’s so amusing,” Harry reasons.

Zayn smiles. “Yeah, but they’d—“ He stops, shakes his head and frowns once more. “Yeah. It wouldn’t work now.”

Nothing fun would ever work now, Harry knows. The Council doesn’t want fun; they want obedience. Harry knows why giant structures meant to bring people joy would seem useless to the Council. Harry knows. He’s always known. Maybe not about the structures, sure, but about the Council and maybe Zayn knows. Somewhere under the surface maybe he knows. So Harry looks at him, sitting up on his elbows so he can see Zayn clearly and asks, “Why not?”

Zayn looks at him back, a ghost of a smile on his face. “It’s not necessary to have.”

“So? Necessity doesn’t decide if it should be in a person’s life or not. Food is necessary, so yeah, give it to everyone, but just because something isn’t necessary doesn’t mean people don’t deserve to have it. Or shouldn’t have it, I guess.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

Harry nods because maybe he was wrong about what Zayn was thinking. Maybe he’s not against the Council, not right now anyway. And while Harry really wants to push the subject, wants to push Zayn to the edge until he can find out what he’s really thinking. But he’s tired and a little bit hungry, so he’ll leave it for now. 

Harry stands, brushes his hands on his pants, and says, “I’m hungry. Do you want anything?”

Zayn smiles at him and nods, closing the book in his lap. “Yeah, sure.”

***

Harry finds Louis and Niall sitting at his secluded lunch spot waiting for him. They’re sitting close together, Louis taking some of Niall’s food while Niall adjusts the hat on his head. It’s a big obnoxious straw thing that Louis makes him wear since he’s out in the sun all day and his cheeks are prone to turning red and achy without it.

Harry sighs, his shoulders dropping as he looks around, trying to find a place that he can sit or run to without being noticed. But then Louis’ hand is waving around in the air and Niall’s looking over his shoulder, a grin on his face when he sees Harry, and Harry just knows that he’s got nowhere to go besides to sit with them.

With a sigh, Harry drags his feet towards his friends, plastering a smile on his face as he takes his seat. “Hey,” he mutters,” ignoring the look at Niall and Louis share. “I was looking for you guys.” It’s a lie, and judging by the snort that escapes Louis, his friends aren’t believing him.

“You were looking for something,” Louis says, with a grin, “but it wasn’t us.”

“Maybe,” Harry admits with a shrug.

“Where’s Zayn?” Niall asks, forcing Louis’ grin to widen.

Harry’s torn between wanting to glare and roll his eyes. Instead, he shrugs once more. “Couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to,” Harry answers, smiling briefly as he takes a bite.

“Oh,” Niall mutters, frowning as he pushes his hat back to scratch at his scalp. The hair underneath is damp and dark from sweat. “Is he going to be joining us? Or… Do you really not know where he is?”

“I really don’t,” Harry answers. “You’d have better luck asking the Council. I’m sure they keep better tabs on him than I ever could.”

“They’re going to keep tabs on you if you don’t shut your mouth,” Louis tells him, rolling his eyes as he talks. “I’ll file a formal complaint against myself.”

“For what?”

“For being a pain in the ass, is what.”

Harry looks up, unimpressed, but Niall’s smiling at him in the easy way that he does like nothing bothers him and he’s just happy to be along for the ride, especially if that ride involves being near Louis. So, Harry’s on his own with this one, it seems.

“He’s probably working. He loves his job, so he’s probably somewhere with a book in his face while he eats. Or, he’s being bothered by his friends like I am. Happy?” Harry smiles, fakely and sweetly. “He’s free to do as he pleases.”

“Of course he is,” Niall reasons. “Just wondering where he is, is all. I haven’t had the chance to meet him yet.”

“Neither have I,” Louis adds.

“Well, he has hazel eyes, black hair. Find him and you can meet him.”

“You can bring him to lunch.”

Harry sighs, closing his eyes. He sets his elbow on the table, puts his head in his hands, and tries to breathe. He knows that they’re not going to stop but he’s not going to bring Zayn around and create some happy family excursion between his friends and the boy he’s been assigned to.

“Why don’t you tell me what you two have been doing lately?” Harry suggests, aiming for a subject change so they can talk about anything, literally anything that’s not Zayn. Harry welcomes it with open arms.

“You said Zayn likes to read books?”

Harry sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. It’s part of his job. He brings them home sometimes.”

“Home,” Louis mutters like he finds the word interesting. “Seems odd that he reads in his spare time. I don’t teach children in my spare time.”

“Niall gets food in his spare time.”

“Because Louis refuses to pick it up or put a foot in the garden,” Niall reports, leaning forward to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “I think it’s great that he likes to read at home. I think it’s even better that you know that about him. Louis said you didn’t know much of anything about him.”

“I know enough,” Harry mumbles in reply, focusing on his meal instead of on his friends. If talking to them about Zayn is the only thing they’re going to want to talk to him about, Harry thinks he might need new friends. Or a better hiding spot for lunch.

Louis makes a noise, thoughtful.

Harry holds his hand up, stopping his friend from saying whatever has that look in his eyes. “Listen, I know you think that you mean and that you’re doing me or Zayn some kind of favor, but you’re really not,” explains Harry, releasing a deep breath, “So please. Just—can that be enough?”

Louis opens his mouth, presses a hand to chest, and acts shocked. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I wasn’t,” he adds, when Harry looks at him, bored and unconvinced. “Fine. I was just going to say that it really wouldn’t kill you to be more social.”

“I’m social to you.”

“Yeah, but. I’m not your partner, am I?”

Harry grits his teeth, fighting against the urge to say something because Louis knows how he feels about this. He knows how Harry feels about partners and the Council and the shitty situation that he’s been forced into, but he’s trying. He might not be wrapping himself around his partner like Louis is at night, but they’re making progress. And Harry is tired of being shoved into doing more than he needs to; into doing what someone else wants him to do because that’s how he got here in the first place. That’s how he got Zayn.

Niall gives Louis a look, nudging him with his elbow as he shakes his head. Harry sighs at the gesture, feeling an inkling of relief that someone is on his side. Well not entirely on his side since Niall would and will choose Louis over Harry in the long run, but for now, for now, Harry is in the clear.

They never get to say much else after that, because across the way someone is shouting. Harry can’t make it out, what’s being said, but he can see protection officers running by, can see people scattering around as they grab their food and anything else, grabbing it up and fleeing. 

There’s fear in people’s eyes and Harry looks to his friends, the two of them looking just as lost and confused as he feels.

Despite the confusion, Harry knows one thing. “I need to get back to work,” he mutters, leaving his food for Louis and Niall.

Harry runs with the crowd, dodging people and swerving to avoid being run into. His feet move quickly, rushing back towards healing. 

There’s a group of protection officers in front of him, grabbing a man. From what Harry can see, which, arguably, isn’t much, the man is injured, a trickle of blood on his forehead. 

The man looks angry, an ugly curl to his lips as he trashes away from the officers.

Harry doesn’t stop to see what happens to him, he keeps running until he’s at healing, rushing inside. It’s utter chaos, with people rushing all over the place and Harry doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He can hear mutterings about an attack and he thinks of the injured man he passed. 

An attack from one of their own, wanting to start their own rebellion that others would follow.

It’s a failure that much is obvious by the injured people that Harry can see and the fact that the protection officers caught up to the man.

Harry’s stomach feels knotted and heavy. Security is going to be awful and Harry doesn’t know what this means, what it’s going to do to them. But there’s not a moment to think about it because someone is shouting his name and right now it doesn’t matter what it’s going to mean because Harry has people to take care of, to heal.

***

Harry takes his time heading home that evening. His feet and back hurt, sharp aches that have him shutting his eyes as he walks, releasing deep breaths to try and get his mind off the pain. He just needs to relax, to lie down for a little while to get himself back together.

Work wasn’t easy. Emergency was forced into overdrive, with everyone still in training helping them to take care of all the people who were being brought in. The man, the one who tried to stage his own revolution, was foolish and clumsy. He caused more harm than any one person should.

Harry doesn’t know the details; they’d never allow something like that to come out. 

But Harry knows enough. 

He saw the effects of it. He treated the effects of it. Harry held hands and comforted the effects of it. He doesn’t need the Council to tell him what happened, for Harry to have an understanding.

For the first time since he received his assignment, Harry is grateful that his house is located away from everything. He wants to be alone – as alone as he can be with Zayn in the house – and he doesn’t want to be surrounded by the murmuring of people trying to explain what happened.

There’s a strange man sitting on the couch, Harry notes, closing the door with a frown. His face is red and puffy, hair wet and matted to his skin. He’s looking at the wall, brown eyes trained on something that his mind has made up, ignoring Harry as he steps into the room.

Harry thinks he looks vaguely familiar but he’s not sure who he is or what he’s doing inside Harry’s home.

“Can I help you?” Harry asks, stepping around to look at the man’s face. “Hey, are you supposed to be here?”

Harry’s experience with strange men today hasn’t been great, and while he’s trying his best to ignore the crawling feeling underneath his skin because this man is not acknowledging him- he doesn’t trust whomever this is.

Harry looks up when he sees movement, sees Zayn stepping out of the cellar with a plateful of their food and a cup in his hands.

“Stop,” Zayn demands, rushing to sit next to the man. “He’s a friend of mine.”

Zayn brushes his fingers through the boy’s hair, smiling at him as he offers him a glass of milk. For some reason, it infuriates Harry. He can feel the slow wave of anger rolling through his stomach, up to his head and down to his toes, as it consumes him entirely.

Harry’s not sure what has him angrier the fact Zayn is sitting on the couch with a strange boy, giving him bits of their food, of their rations, or the fact he even cares at all.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, fingers flexing at his sides.

The strange boy doesn’t glance in his direction, instead, he’s staring down into his cup, acting as if Harry isn’t around at all. He knows that he heard him. He saw the faintest twitch of the boy’s stupid, stupid eyebrows, as he stares down at Harry’s milk.

Well, not his milk. He didn’t produce it or anything, but it belongs to the members of this household, and somewhere upstairs in Harry’s drawer is the folder informing that the members of this household are he and Zayn. No one else. So, this…puffy-eyed, bushy-browed… _stranger_ can run off to find his own milk.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Harry repeats, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice. “We don’t have a lot of that. There’s a reason things are rationed. We’re all supposed to have some and we’re all supposed to have our own. _What_ are you doing?”

“Harry, please,” Zayn starts, not even bothering to look at Harry. Instead, he waves at him, in a vague sort of gesture that seems like it’s trying to tell Harry to go away, to leave them alone.

“This is _my_ house,” Harry says before turns and moves towards the staircase.

Harry doesn’t check to see if Zayn looks at him or if that stranger is enjoying their rations, he just marches up the stairs, escaping into his bedroom and dropping down on the bed with a tired, annoyed groan. The mattress muffles the sound, for which Harry is grateful because if his mother were here, she would be telling him what a brat he’s being.

Things are quiet for a while down below. Quiet long after Harry has managed to pull himself out of bed and get out of his work clothes so that he can clean himself off. He changes and falls into bed once more, watching the way the day shifts across his ceiling. There are vibrant bursts of orange when he finally hears muffled voices, the voices of Zayn and his stranger.

Harry can’t make out what they’re saying but the sky shifts from orange to pink until there’s no more color to see. It’s dark for a while before Harry hears movement downstairs before he hears the door close and then…nothing. There are the faintest sounds of Zayn mulling around but Harry can tell that the stranger is gone.

That knowledge releases some of the pent up feelings – god, Harry doesn’t know what to call it – in his gut.

Harry moves down the stairs slowly, checking to make sure the stranger is gone. The anger is still there, thrumming under his skin, but he thinks he has the right to feel some kind of anger. And if the roles were reversed, he’d imagine that Zayn would feel the same way.

Zayn’s sitting on the couch, hunched over with one of Harry’s shirts in his lap. There’s a sewing kit on the table and a tiny needle in Zayn’s hand that he works through the fabric.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks before he can really think about it because obviously, he knows what Zayn is doing. He just doesn’t know why he’s doing it, trying to fix the hole that’s there.

“There’s a tear in your shirt,” Zayn states, “ so I thought—I don’t know. I thought I’d take care of it for you.”

Harry has to close his eyes because it’s stupid and irrational that Zayn sewing his shirt, fixing it for him would make him angry, but it does. It sends him so far over the edge that Harry wonders if he was ever on the edge, to begin with. It doesn’t feel like anymore.

“You don’t need to do that, we can just throw the stupid thing away.”

Zayn breathes out, shaking his head. “There’s no point in doing that. It’s an easy fix. Throwing the shirt out would be wasteful, so no, I’m not going to just throw one of your shirts out.”

Harry rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. “Who was that here today?”

“Oh,” Zayn mumbles. “He’s a friend.”

“A friend.”

“A friend,” Zayn confirms with a nod.

“You were feeding him our rations.”

“He had a rough day.”

Harry scoffs. “Those are our rations, Zayn. Do you realize how little we get in this fucking place and you were giving them to someone else? Those are ours.”

Zayn nods placidly like he’s only doing it to please Harry, just to let him know that he’s listening. His eyes are trained on Harry’s shirt, the needle moving without missing a beat. “We get enough that when a friend of mine needs something, I can spare it. _We_ can spare it.”

“Yeah, well. Sorry, your friend had a shit day, but he’s not the only one, and I haven’t seen a portion of our rations today.”

Zayn looks up at that, fingers halting their movements. “Have you forgotten where the cellar is, Harry? I can show you if you need me to. There’s plenty in there for you.”

Harry’s mouth closes with a click. He looks at Zayn for a second, watching the way Zayn blinks at him patiently, undisturbed by Harry’s outburst. And there’s Harry’s shirt in his lap, staring at him as well, making Harry feel like maybe, _maybe_ he is being a bit of an ass.

Maybe. Possibly a bit.

“Sorry,” Harry mutters, sighing as he releases some of the tension built up in his body. “Sorry. It wasn’t—It wasn’t a good day.”

“Yeah, I know,” Zayn assures him, nodding while the corners of his lips curl up slightly in a smile.

“You know what happened?”

Zayn’s face pulls together, his eyes squinting as he mulls something over in his head. “Um. Liam’s job is protection,” Zayn tells him carefully. “It’s kind of like healing; they do different things before they’re assigned their jobs. He was in—well.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbles, moving to drop down on the couch next to Zayn. He knows what Zayn is alluding to.

Liam, the stranger from earlier, works in protection and must have been one of the people to deal with the man and his attempt at a revolution.

Zayn nods, sighing, his shoulders dropping with the movement. “Liam isn’t. He wanted the job, and I think he tried to manipulate the system a bit to get it, but. It’s not what he was expecting,” Zayn says. “I think he’d serve better as patrol instead of an officer.”

Harry nods because there have always been stories about people manipulating the tests and interviews to get the job that they thought they wanted, only to find out that it wasn’t for them and then they’re stuck there. It’s one of the reasons people push the system, saying that being assigned is the only way. But Harry knows even assigned people end up being miserable. But at least when not assigned, there’s the ability to change where you are, to go out and make yourself happy.

Harry thinks after a day like today, Zayn’s friend might be feeling like that.

“Sorry I freaked out earlier,” Harry says again. “It was just—a lot of stress today. There was…so many people needing to be tended too, so much more than normal.” Harry sighs, dropping his hands down to his sides.

Harry doesn’t know how to explain the thrumming under his skin, how it feels like it won’t go away entirely for a while. He can still remember the people in healing. He can feel the frantic energy of it all; maybe that’s where the thrumming comes from, a side effect of exposure or something.

“It’s fine,” Zayn promises, shrugging when their eyes meet. “I probably wouldn’t have known about what happened if I didn’t run into Liam today. He was just, standing there, and his eyes were glassed over. Anyway, I can imagine how it would feel to have been directly involved in the…aftermath, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Still.”

“Yeah, still. It’s fine.”

Harry smiles and nods, leaning back against the couch. Zayn turns his gaze back towards Harry’s shirt in his lip and goes back to sewing it. Harry only watches him for a minute but he realizes that he should probably do something since Zayn is fixing his shirt and all Harry has done today is yell at him. He’s done other things but if Zayn can take Harry’s aggression, deal with his friend, and still want to fix Harry’s shirt, well, Harry can do something as thoughtless as make them both something to eat.

***

Harry was nine the first time he remembers hearing whispers of a rebellion. He remembers Council members passing it off as people wanting to take what they have, to break the peace that they’ve worked so hard to create like society’s happiness was left in the balance every time someone voiced a disagreement with the Council.

Harry doesn’t remember what actually happened then, just that things became stricter than they had been. He remembers his mom asking him to come home sooner than she used to, forcing him out of the yard and back into the house. Harry remembers hating her for it sometimes until he heard the heavy, angry noise of the patrol checking to make sure everyone was in their houses.

Harry used to watch the trucks through his bedroom window, his head reading against the window pane and watching as they drove up and down his street until his mom ushered him back into bed, shaking her head at him fondly and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He had asked her what was going on, what they were doing, but she had just said that sometimes these things happen.

It took a while for things to go back to how they were, back to the quiet, controlled way that they had been before any whispers happened. At the time, ages ago, Harry didn’t know what was going on but looking back on it, he knows what it was.

And when he wakes up in the middle of the night to sound of angry engines driving down his quiet street, he doesn’t need his mom to lie to him because he knows what this is. It’s the whispers of a rebellion. It’s even tighter controls on his already controlled life.

When Harry wakes up later, officially, the seed of irritation is already planted deep in his stomach.

It gnaws at him, as the week goes on. There’s no discussion of the trucks or what they were doing out in the middle of the night, which annoys Harry more than it should. No one seems to really care about anything happening within their city or what the Council is planning for them.

It trickles into other aspects of Harry’s life, the irritation, he takes it out on Louis when he runs into him, telling him off for skipping lunch, and Harry really doesn’t care about lunch or the fact that Louis was waiting for him and expected Harry to be there, despite the fact that Harry didn’t agree to meet him.

And Harry takes it out on Zayn when he gets home; takes it out on him on almost every single thing that he can think of.

Harry can feel himself losing control. He’s getting worked up and angry over every single thing.

“You’re angry because I’ve started dinner?”

“I was going to make something,” Harry cries, feeling a vein throb in his throat, steady and annoyingly.

Zayn nods, slicing the chicken methodically like Harry never said anything. Except, Harry knows that he’s heard because Zayn mutters, “You didn’t say anything this morning and I was already home, so.”

“So you thought that you’d make decisions for us both again?”

“You can eat something else, if you’re that upset about it,” Zayn tells him, smiling when he looks up at Harry. “It doesn’t matter to me. Or, if you want to cook for us both that badly, I’ll happily step back and let you cook the chicken.”

“No,” Harry grits out, shaking his head. “I wanted to be able to make my own choice. I wanted to be able to do something as simple as make dinner. But, no, you’ve decided, yet again, what we’re doing for dinner.”

“I can set the chicken aside for tomorrow if you don’t want it. I don’t think I can keep it like this for any longer, though, so.” Zayn shrugs again like he doesn’t care what they do for dinner and Harry doesn’t understand him. He doesn’t understand how Zayn can just…not care about anything.

Harry clenches his fists at his sides, squeezing and then flexing his fingers. “See, that’s your problem. You’re always—“

“I’m always what, Harry?” Zayn asks, tired. It’s said in the same way that he always addresses Harry when he thinks Harry is being absurd.

And the thing is, Harry knows when he’s being a Grade A dick, and he’s being one now. He can’t seem to get his brain and his mouth to agree that he needs to shut up. He can agree with Zayn on that front, doesn’t blame him for the tired, borderline annoyed look in his eyes.

But no matter how awful Harry gets, Zayn retaliates. He never backs down either. Zayn doesn’t get harsh about Harry’s behavior but he shoves Harry back, just as hard as Harry tries to shove him. And when Zayn shoves back, Harry backs down.

It’s a never-ending cycle lately.

“Sorry,” Harry sighs, raking his fingers through his hair.

Zayn nods. “You okay?”

Harry waves his hands around vaguely, then shrugs. “I’m sorry,” he says again because he was just yelling about Zayn prepping the chicken.

“So you keep saying,” mumbles Zayn, looking at Harry expectantly.

Harry signs once more, unsure of what it is Zayn wants from him. “I’m angry. I’m just… _so_ angry. I hate all of this. I hate how we’re forced together,” he explains, ignoring the way Zayn frowns. “I hate how we’re forced into this house. I hate how we’re forced to work in different areas, areas we don’t even know if we want and can’t change out of if we don’t like them because that’s how fucking rigid and controlled this place is.

“I hate how we can’t be outside after dark anymore,” Harry continues, noticing the way Zayn is watching him intently like Harry is some sort of caged animal that he should be wary of. “I mean, we can’t go outside anymore, Zayn. There are patrols. Your friend is storming around our streets at night, ready to...do who knows what to whoever they find outside.”

“You don’t know Liam is out there,” Zayn points out quietly.

“No, I don’t. But I also don’t need to, so.” Harry shrugs like he’s just made some kind of sense. “It wouldn’t matter if it was him or someone else. There are people out there keeping us in our houses because of…what? Some guy threw a massive fit, injured some people, and do you know what they did to him?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I have an idea.”

“I’m just feeling like I’m trapped, all the time. And I don’t know how to compensate for that besides to lash out, and not just at you. I snapped at Louis, which isn’t new; he’s irritating on any given day, so is that really any sort of judge on this—this feeling that I have right here,” he says, pointing at his gut. “It feels like I’m on fire sometimes.”

Harry rants, can’t seem to get himself to stop, and Zayn listens silently. He nods along with what Harry is saying and the longer that Harry goes on, the less frequent that he interrupts to offer input. Somewhere in the middle of shouting about the Council, Zayn stops looking at him like a caged animal, but still like someone he’s worried about.

Harry doesn’t blame him.

***

When Louis opens the door to his house and sees Harry standing there with nothing more than a smile, he immediately goes back inside, leaving Harry outside alone.

If Harry hadn’t spent his life with Louis, he would be surprised or hurt, something other than happy, but he has spent his life with Louis, so Harry knows his friend. He knows that slamming the door in his face is deserved. They haven’t spoken since Harry snapped at Louis about lunch, which is entirely Harry’s fault and he’s willing to take the blame for it.

Harry’s been thinking about making things better between the two but with the way the Council has been acting and the strict regulations that have been put into place, for the time being, Harry hasn’t had the time to put any effort into making things right.

And there’s always the fact that Louis is seen sprinting anywhere Harry knows to find him and always when Harry is present.

There’s a sound of struggle behind the door before it’s pulled open, revealing a smiling blonde-haired boy and his unruly partner.

“Hi,” Harry says, smiling again when Louis looks at him briefly.

Louis sniffs, turning so he’s facing Niall and not Harry.

“Hello,” Niall greets, smiling at him until Louis grabs his face, squishing his cheeks and forcing him to turn and look at Louis instead of Harry. “What?” Niall’s words are garbled because of Louis’ hands gripping his face. “Lou?”

“Who are you saying hello to, Niall?” ask Louis, letting go of his partner’s face so he can retreat into their house.

Niall looks at Harry, shrugging and stepping out of the way so Harry can enter their house. “Your best friend.”

“Ah,” Louis mutters, nodding. “Yourself, then?”

“Louis,” Harry laughs, following Louis and sitting on the couch next to him. “I know you know that I’m here.” Louis turns his head to the side, looking at the wall on the other side of the room. “Fine, be that way. Niall? How have you been? How’s work?”

“Fine. I’m fine. Work’s fine. We have an abundance of tomatoes this year, so expect more in your rations. The season is slowly changing, so we’re spending more time with the new plants and shifting the ones we can into the greenhouses,” Niall explains.

“That sounds nice,” Harry decides, smiling. “You’ll be able to leave the house without that hat on.”

“He likes the hat,” Louis chimes in, groaning when Harry smiles at him. “All right. Fine. I’m talking to you. How’s your attitude?”

“Better,” Harry tells him, only lying a teensy bit. He bit his tongue against arguing with Zayn this morning and they should take improvements as they come. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, I know,” sighs Louis. “You’re just an ass that way.”

“Yeah, I can be. How’s work?”

Louis sighs once more like Harry struck a nerve. “Things have been complicated lately. We’re taking shifts eating lunch with the kids, which we didn’t have to do before because the food servers were always in charge of that. But rebellion and all that, I guess,” Louis explains.

“It won’t last long, you know that,” Harry says.

“And he’s in charge of making sure the kids get to their parents or home,” Niall adds.

Harry frowns at that. “I don’t remember us having that done when we were younger. Did they do that?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, it’s new. Apparently, that guy was worse than the others. Who knows.” Louis shrugs because it is what it is.

No one is going to know the details about what happened unless they’re involved in the Council and the three of them aren’t, so. It is what it is. As much as it bothers Harry that things are happening; things that he doesn't know about, even though they directly affect him, affect everyone.

“Healing is going well,” Harry says, unsure of what else to say. “I think I’m going to find out my placement soon. They haven’t said but it’s been a while and other places are giving out placements, so. I’m only assuming, really.”

“Where are you hoping to go?” Niall asks.

“Emergency.”

“Minimal human interaction,” mutters Louis, shaking his head. “Go figure.”

“And every day is different.”

Louis hums like he doesn’t believe Harry. Niall just smiles at him and shrugs.

“And what about Zayn?” Louis asks because he’s Louis and everything circles back to him, at least when Harry is concerned.

If Harry didn’t know that Louis actually like – loves, he guesses – his partner and think that he knows what’s best for Harry, Harry would assume that Louis had a different kind of interest in Zayn. One that’s forbidden since the Council chose him for Harry and Niall for Louis.

“What about him?” Harry asks, looking between the pair before he drops his gaze down to their table, staring at the fine grains in the wood across the surface. Feigning ignorance has never worked before and Harry isn’t naïve enough to think it’ll work this time.

“How is his job going?” Niall asks, at the same time Louis says, “Why isn’t he here, for one thing?”

Harry looks up in time to see the two of them share a look. “From what I understand, his job is fine. He never really complains about it. I think he really enjoys it.”

“You think?”

“I think, yeah. Like I said, he never really complains about it and unless he does that, then it’s hard to say anything else.”

“Where is he, then?”

“At home. Out. I don’t know,” Harry informs them and then, with a bit of reluctance, he adds, “We’ve been fighting lately. A lot.”

“You’ve both been fighting, or you’ve been fighting him?”

“Louis,” Niall whispers, fixing his partner with a look. Harry doesn’t know what the look is supposed to say but Louis rolls his eyes at Niall in response, which tells Harry enough. “I’m sorry to hear you’re fighting, Harry. Hopefully, things will ease up between you two.”

“I’m sure it will be better once you apologize,” Louis says. He holds up a hand when both Harry and Niall open their mouths to say something. “I’d go with Niall’s approach of pretending I don’t know what’s going on, but as someone that you’ve verbally lashed at recently, I know there’s more going on than just some rough patch two people forced to live together encounter.”

Harry lets Louis continue to rant about how he needs to fix things for a few more minutes, his gaze back to the table as he tunes Louis out. Niall jumps to his rescue when Louis becomes a bit much, offering to make lunch for everyone if they promise to help out. It’s a weak attempt at getting Louis to ease up on Harry, but it works, and Harry is grateful for it.

***

Harry doesn’t see Zayn when he gets back that evening. He doesn’t call out for him, just listens to the silence of their house as he leaves his shoes by the door.

There’s still a little while until sundown, so curfew hasn’t been fully implemented. But it’s close, looming over everyone’s heads as the patrol officers begin to filter out and wander amongst them. There was an array of people out, all of them trying to get home before curfew started and they’d get in trouble for being out.

And with curfew looming over their heads, Harry knows that Zayn will have to be home soon or risk staying where he is. And maybe that’s what he’s going to do tonight, camp out at that friend he had over the day’s house or his parents, or someone else that he’s close with that Harry doesn’t know about.

Harry assumes he’ll find out eventually.

Harry pauses at the top of the stairs, looking towards Zayn’s bedroom door and wondering if he should knock and see if Zayn is in there, just so he can know if he’s home or not. He decides against it, in case Zayn is sleeping or something, and instead retreats into his room.

Something is off, Harry notices, looking cautiously around his room. The pile of clothes he keeps next to the dresser that needs to be cleaned is no longer there, and he can’t remember when he last did his cleaning but he’s fairly positive it was there this morning when he dropped his sleeping clothes into it.

Harry moves around his room slowly, noticing how things are just slightly different, cleaner than they were before.

He stops when he notices movement out of his window, seeing Zayn outside. He’s pinning clothes to a line, a basket at his feet. There’s a gentle breeze outside, making the clothes that are already hung shift back and forth. It means that Zayn had time to clean and decided that he’d go ahead and take Harry’s clothes out of his room without saying anything.

Harry glances down at his bedside table and sees that the glass of water he keeps there is missing, a water ring left in its place.

Harry grits his teeth in anger. Zayn has been invading his space, going through his things and doing what he pleases with them. Harry doesn’t go into Zayn’s space. He doesn’t go into Zayn’s room and start messing with his stuff. He respects the fact that they have their own areas, that they need their own spaces and they have to respect the boundaries of that if they want to live together comfortably.

Harry understands that. Harry respects that. He knows that they were forced into this house without knowing each other at all and despite the fact that they’re going to be living together for a long time, for all of their lives as long as they’re in this place. Which is why violating each other’s private spaces is so—It’s so wrong.

Maybe the problem is that they never had any kind of formal discussion about how they should navigate around that and what they want and expect out of the other. And Harry can admit that is definitely a problem but that doesn't make this situation any less frustrating.

Zayn’s coming back into the house when Harry finally storms downstairs; his weak attempt at calming down futile and forgotten.

Zayn’s smile slowly leaves his face as he looks at Harry. There’s a moment where he looks resigned like he knows what’s coming when he sets the basket down on the ground and rubs tiredly at his face. Zayn looks at Harry and waits, bracing himself for what’s to come, which should be a sign that Harry should take a step back and think about what he’s about to do.

Instead, because he’s so out of control and doesn’t know how to stop anymore, it only makes him angrier.

“You were in my room.”

Zayn nods, resting a hand on the table and leaning into it. “I did, yes. I asked you last night if needed your clothes washed and you said yes. You never brought them down, so I went and got them.”

“Without telling me.”

“You weren’t here and I needed my uniform cleaned. I’m not sure what you wanted me to do.”

“Ask, maybe? Let me know in advance? Wait until I got back? Harry suggests, far more rudely than he should. “I think there are plenty of options available to you that don’t include going into my room and messing around with your stuff.”

Zayn sighs, shaking his head. “What of yours did I mess with?”

Harry glares at him because he still hasn’t figured it out. He can tell that things have been shifted slightly and he knows that Zayn did something besides just picking up his clothes and leaving the room. Harry can sense it. He felt it when he walked in.

“The glass on the side of my table.”

“I accidentally knocked it over, so I cleaned up the mess, cleaned the dish, and then put it where it belongs. I can get it for you if it’s that important,” Zayn says. “I wasn’t messing with anything. I tripped and nudged the table. It was an accident.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t in my room, though. That’s the whole point of this,” Harry tells him. “We’re stuck here, together, and there are lines that we shouldn’t cross. We need to establish that and respect it. That’s my room. It’s my space away from you, to have for myself. Do you understand that?”

“Not really,” says Zayn, standing up a little straighter and looking at Harry.

“Not really? Well, you’re going to have to start understanding it.”

“No, I don’t. Harry, the thing you refuse to understand and acknowledge is the fact that we don’t get private spaces. That’s not _your_ room, that’s _our_ room,” Zayn grits out, looking at Harry with more annoyance and anger than he has since they were assigned to each other. Though, if Harry really looks at him, he sees that Zayn’s not all that angry.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks. “That’s my room.”

“No, it’s really not,” laughs Zayn. “It’s our room, you’ve just taken it for yourself.”

Zayn leaves after that, basket left on the floor as he retreats upstairs. Harry stares at where he was standing, listening to Zayn’s door close from upstairs. He stares at the empty space and tries to figure out what Zayn was talking about. He knows that Zayn came into this on a more positive note than Harry did, so maybe he had…expectations.

Expectations that they’d share a room together and everything would be as picturesque as the Council made their assignments out to be. Loads of people go into their assignments thinking the same thing, so Harry doesn’t blame him, but does anyone actually go into it sharing the same bed?

Zayn doesn’t come out of his room, not even after the sun disappears and the hum of the engines of the patrol trucks start outside. Harry makes dinner and thinks about the fight they had, trying to figure out what Zayn could mean and how he can talk to him about even though the Council says something has to be done one way, it doesn't actually have to be that way, and they can make their own way in the world they’ve been forced into.

Once Harry’s calm and with a plan, he brings a plate of food to Zayn’s room. He knocks at the door softly, trying to listen for a sign if Zayn is awake or sleeping. The light is on but Harry can remember plenty of times he’s fallen asleep with his light on, especially if Zayn is reading one of his books.

There’s no answer and Harry doesn’t want the food to go to waste, so he pushes the door open slowly. His hand slides away from the door slowly, his mouth falling open when he sees Zayn sat in a corner, a book in his lap, and nothing else in the room.

There’s no bed, no furniture of any kind whatsoever. Zayn’s clothes are folded neatly in the corner, Zayn’s elbow propped on them. Some of Zayn’s books are in the room as well, but nothing else. There’s nothing.

“Weren’t you saying something about not going into each other’s rooms?”

“There’s nothing in here,” Harry mumbles, stepping cautiously into the room like this is some kind of trick on him and somehow furniture is just going to miraculously appear. “You sleep in here and there’s...nothing.”

“No, I sleep downstairs.”

“You sleep downstairs?” Harry thinks about it for a moment, how Zayn goes to sleep after Harry but he’s always awake before him with breakfast. “You sleep downstairs.”

“I told you, that’s our bedroom. The spares are for…you know, children. They’re not meant for us to sleep separately,” Zayn explains and Harry frowns, never having known that before. “I’ve heard there are ways around it, but. I never—I don’t know, it seemed silly to cause a fuss. And I don’t know how—I don’t know how to navigate that kind of rule breaking. It wasn’t ever in my house.” Zayn finishes with a shrug, closing the book in his lap.

“I didn’t—I thought you had to apply for more rooms for kids. I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he admits, biting his lip. “I thought there were two rooms because there’s two of us.”

Zayn waves him off. “I didn’t want to start something on our first night here. And then I wasn’t sure what to say and when to say it.”

“Well, you can have the room now. It’s only fair since I’ve been hogging it.”

“It’s fine. It’s yours.”

“It’s not, though. And that’s fine. I can handle sleeping downstairs.”

Harry shakes his head. “You have to take it. Please. I’ve had it for a while, you can take it until our time is even, then we’ll switch on and off.”

“We’re not switching,” Zayn laughs. “It doesn’t matter. But I’ll take that plate of food, I’m starving.”

Harry nods, moving to give Zayn the plate. “You’re taking the bed,” Harry says. Zayn shrugs and eats like this is an argument they can have later.

They don’t argue about it but they do end up sharing a bed. It makes the most sense, considering the fact it is supposed to be for both of them and neither of them should be taking it from the other, especially now that they’re both aware of the fact that it is the only bed in the house.

It’s a compromise, something that they really haven’t done before now. It’s awkward and a little uncomfortable, but Harry knows that it was the right thing to do.

Zayn keeps to his side of the bed, lying on his back with his eyes looking towards the ceiling. Harry’s doing the same, trying to remind himself that it’ll only be weird for a little while longer; he’ll get used to it, as he’ll be doing it every night, lying in bed with Zayn.

“Harry, you’re awake, right?” Zayn whispers into the darkness, soft and tentative.

“Yeah, I am.”

“I just wanted you to know that, I understand,” Zayn tells him carefully. “I understand how you feel about the way things are; the system of things. I don’t agree with it, but I understand it.”

Harry swallows and nods. “All right,” he says, unsure of what else there is to say to that.

“I also understand that I’m an easy target for you because I’m here. Because I can’t go anywhere because you can’t go anywhere too, I guess,” mutters Zayn, his words coming out easier than before. “I get how something like that can be frustrating but you can’t keep taking that frustration out on me. It’s not fair to me, and it’ll only make things worse.”

Harry breathes out, feeling like something has been lifted off his chest. It’s an odd feeling, considering he hasn’t revealed anything or say more than five words since Zayn started speaking. Harry thinks, maybe, it’s the fact that Zayn acknowledged Harry’s feelings and thoughts. He’s not sure.

But he knows that Zayn’s right. He knows that he needs to not be wound so tightly, like those toys they were given when they were younger and they would have to wind it up until suddenly it burst, an angry looking doll shooting out of it quickly. Harry’s been that way recently, the angry doll just waiting to explode.

“I’m sorry, for how I’ve been acting and treating you,” Harry says. “I know I’ve said that before and it probably doesn’t mean much anymore, but I am. I really shouldn’t have been acting the way I was.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. But I appreciate you saying that.” Harry looks over towards Zayn, sees that he’s still looking towards the ceiling. “I’m not normally such a dick. Well, I am, sometimes, but not to this degree.”

Zayn laughs, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “I’d like to meet not-normally-such-a-dick-Harry.”

“I’ll bring him around,” Harry promises, smiling, for what feels like the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the last chapter, I promised that Harry would get better and as you can see, he was a nightmare. Bless him. BUT, I can with certainty promise that Harry gets better from this point on. So bear with me and Harry because next chapter things are much better. As always, please kindly tell me if there are any horrible errors in this chapter.
> 
> 8/30/17: I am working on this fic. There will be another chapter!


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